#ass milk is valid

[salmonellatrenchcoat]

[saintgoths]

ʜɪꜱ ᴍɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY.

GHOST BEING DESPERATE FOR HIS MISTRESS.

mummy kink, submissive ghost and even ooc but i want him to be desperate idc. ghost receiving a handjob etc.

if this gets over 500 notes i'll do a part two.

p!links

unread & feedback would be appreciated!

Who would’ve known just by your touch he could be so submissive, eager and desperate to be pleased, latching his mouth around your nipples as you pleased him, hand tight around his length you whispered sweet nothings to him as Ghost squirmed against your lap, he tried his best to not move his hips, challenging himself to be patient and obedient to your caress.

He moaned, eyes fluttered shot as he felt his cock twitch within your grasp. “Good boy, hold it for me,” you whispered, looking at him through the wisp of your eyelashes, watching how his brown eyes slowly revealed itself and closed again, he had been so beautiful under you, naked, with his scars and delicately carved muscles of his chest.

The heaviness of his chest slowly raised up and down, concentrating to calm himself, to not come in your hands, eyes squeezed shut he shivered within your grasp, his moans pinching to become louder within every other second. “Good boy,” you said again, sliding the pad of your thumb against the slit of his cock, and he gently arched his back, his hips moving in a strong motion, the skin of his balls clapping against the smoothness of your knuckles, the grip of his mouth strong around your nipple and the lower limbs of his body curved.

“Ye---Good boy,” he continuously repeated, like a praise, a hymn encouraging him to use your hand. “I’m a good boy---” he whispered and you moaned, the crease between your legs wet, aching to feel his size stretch you, but you held yourself back, moving your hand in the same speed of his hips while you saw how his eyes rolled back, how his bearded jaw had quivered as his load milked against your fingers, the texture thick and warm---his moans that echoed from the back of his throat had turned into whimpers and cracks, but he had still been hard.

Lips away from your breast, Ghost had caught his breath. You saw how his dick had jerked at the loss of your touch, and the orbs of his eyes had been revealed again, he had still been lustful, and he wanted more. “You’ve been a good boy,” you cooed as you stroked the short blonde strands of his hair. “So, you get to fuck me today.”

Gently, he made a noise, a noise of elation. You pulled yourself away from him, getting to your knees, your ass faced towards him revealing the wet folds of your pussy, you bit your lower lip. “Tell me how bad you want me,” you whispered and you could feel Ghost move to stand on his knees, the hardness of his cock shadowing your heat.

Impatient, Ghost trailed the warmth of his hands down your waist and holding your hips, the tip of his shaft had gently been pressed against you, it had ached to feel you but softly you pulled yourself away, your face turned to him, shadowed with passion and urge, you needed him greatly, but you had wanted to hear the words come from his mouth.

“I want you,” he said, his voice low, you tilted your head displeased, you had wanted to see more of the side Ghost usually hid away, the side his friends would be shocked at, the side that yearned for your dominance and for your validation. “I want you really bad---so fucking bad love.”

Widely, you grinned as he continued to express his desire, each time he expressed it, the pad of his fingers dug deeper into your skin, as if to control his lust.

“If I don’t fuck you right now, I’ll go insane,” he continued and pleased you turned your face around. “Please let me fuck you mummy---”

“Good boy,” you complimented, adjusting yourself against him, the nectar of your heat coating the tip of his size. “Now fuck me.”

P!LINK 1

P!LINK 2

ghost masterlist

[dickgraysonsbitch]

shopping with the batboys ( + bruce )

to my pineapple pizza haters: know you are valid

warnings: none | divider by @cafekitsune | requests open!

With DICK GRAYSON, the most mundane of shopping trips turns into an expedition—leaving your heart rushing and blood pounding. He shoots you a flirty wink before steadying the grip on his shopping cart. “Ready, sweetheart? Because I don’t think you are. I’ve got the bread isle memorized like the back of my—”

“Go!” You exclaim, snorting when you see the shocked expression on his face, like he wasn’t expecting you to cheat to try to beat him. Hey, he was a super-fit vigilante, how else were you going to get a head start against Nightwing? Pushing off of a rack of magazines, you let out a shout of victory as you grab the milk from the fridge. One down, two to go. You quickly place the eggs into your cart, but not before you make eye contact with your menace of a boyfriend, who smirks at you before grabbing the last bag of whole wheat bread. Damn, he really did have the bread isle memorized like the back of his hand, didn’t he?

He bats his eyelashes at you innocently, but not before flashing you a crooked grin. “I think that’s three, sweetheart. 3-2, if you know what I mean, so…” he smiles, but there’s a glint of mirth in his eyes that absolutely melts your heart.

“I’m still calling a foul. It’s your walk-in pantry, and there’s no way that you didn’t have an advantage over me.” You huff, crossing your arms, trying to replicate the cute-but-hurt puppy dog eyes that Dick seemed to have mastered.

He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Sorry, but a deal’s a deal. I mean, I guess you could go back on it, but…” he looks up at you, with those eyes that could melt even the coldest of hearts, and probably a physical ice statue as well.

“Fine,” you grumble. “We can have pineapple on your stupid pizza. Do you want cereal for dessert?” The last question is supposed to be sarcastic, but the light in his eyes shifts from mischievous to downright carnal.

“Actually, I was thinking of having something else for dessert.”

Oh, boy.

You always knew that JASON TODD was going to spoil you rotten, and that was before you found out that he could cook. It wasn’t fair, actually, that he was probably the most gorgeous, intelligent, and caring person that you knew, all while being kick-ass and super talented at… basically everything. To some, God gave in abundance. Sighing dramatically, you propped yourself on his shoulder and leaned against him with your elbows.

His eyes twinkled at your new position. “What’s wrong, princess? Tacos not your scene anymore?” He was lying, obviously, because you demolished tacos like they were your last meal and you were on death row, but you still huffed and buried your face in his bicep.

“Jus’ thinking ‘bout how fuckin’ perfect you are, Jay,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the muscle that somehow managed to stay defined under a leather jacket. “You’re really awesome, you know that? I’ve never met someone as amazing as you. They should put a picture of you up at the Met—‘cause you’re a work of art, baby.”

It’s obvious that he’s holding back laughter, from the way that his broad shoulders are shaking, but something inspires him to keep entertaining this though. Probably your endless supply of charm. “Yeah, babe? I knew you wanted me just for my pretty face.” It’s interesting, honestly, how his relationship with you made him more comfortable with… all parts of himself.

You slap his chest, (not that it does anything), a s pout, your brows furrowed. “You’re not funny.” He send you a soft smile, something that should be uncharacteristic for a man of his size, but it works on you, like it usually does.

He presses his lips together before hoisting you up onto an empty display, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear and out of your face. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m pretty.” Within a minute of staring at your unamused face, he’s howling in laughter, snickering to himself like he’s the comedian of the year.

And without a moment of warning, you’re sealing his lips with a kiss, sending a tingle all the way to the tips of your fingers, and he’s parting his lips to deepen it even further. His hands palm just above your ass, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, softly running your thumb over his rough cheek, and it feels like paradise until—

“Hey! I thought this was a roommates only grocery trip?”

You and Jason both roll your eyes at the voice, and with varying levels of intensity, reply in unison.

“Shut up, Roy!”

Nothing made you shiver like the husky, low voice of BRUCE WAYNE whispering in your ear from behind you. It was an action that sent your poor heart into overdrive, but here, in this shop that was clearly out of your tax bracket (they had mannequins for diamond embellished puppy collars, for God’s sake) it was as if he was doing it just to show that you were at his mercy.

Not a bad place to be, if you thought about it.

“Try on the dress,” his voice is baritone, and he isn’t using his usual, suave business tone. No, this is the voice he uses when he wants something, and when he’s sure that he’s going to get it. It was like a spell was cast on you, and all you wanted to do was exactly what he said. You weren’t sure you really needed a spell for that anyway.

But still, you hesitated. The dress in question was an Oscar de la Renta mermaid cut gown, in pitch black, no doubt matching Bruce’s own personal aesthetic. The only hesitation? The price. You balked instantly when you glanced at the bill for the first time. Shit, you knew that a custom made dress that didn’t even have a tag on it would be more than your yearly rent. “It’s… 15,000 dollars! Bruce, I can’t accept this.”

He frowned, making you notice the soft wrinkles starting to appear on his face. God, that man took way too much stress for his own good. You’d tried warning against it, but when did he ever listen to anyone but himself (and Alfred)?

“Pocket change, darling. And it’s your first gala, I don’t want you to be wearing something you’ve worn before.” He lightly rubs his fingers against your waist, a promise of something else to come once you accept.

“It’s…” you look down. “It’s a lot. Are you sure?”

“Never been surer. Now, why don’t you look at matching jewelry?”

[cryptidmickle]

your amnesiac au makes me scream and sob and cry forever & ever do you have any thoughts or comments on it that you havent been able to share to the world yet

CRIES AS I DROP MILLIONS OF INCOMPREHENSIBLE SKETCHES FROM MY POCKETS, I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS I HAVE YET TO BE ABLE TO SHARE OR MAKE COHERENT

ahh i've been posting a Little out of order, as in this au smilk and pv have actually been communicating since beast yeast ep 1&2!! smilk's been haunting his ass for a while now and they had even started to become accustomed to the other, finding their similarities and behaviors easy to understand and work with.... white lily knows pure vanilla has been talking to him, but hoped the extent of those interactions was just uncomfortable threats and taunts....

she was Not happy when pure vanilla disappeared and more so when he came back with memory-less shadow milk

a lot of stuff is up in the air considering these bastards story isn't finished yet, but i think the incident leading to smilk's amnesia takes place in the time of golden cheese getting yoinked by burning spice? so while shes fighting for her life, pv is dragging a clown out of the bushes and begging for white lily to not send him immediately to the dungeons

the spell that pv hit smilk with i've decided is quite literally a baby version of smilk's attack ingame! ☝️or at least, a really fucked up version of it, pv is REALLY bad at attack magic and heh. well. now smilk's souljam is cracked and he can't seem to remember anything! though he does still retain a lot of his old knowledge, like spell creation and sciences, old folklore....... it actually unnerves him a lot, how much he knows yet knows nothing of himself

pure vanilla actually feels really guilty about attacking smilk, but he was cornered and wasn't going to last much longer healing himself over and over again. part of the reason he decided to help him and take him in! part.

pure vanilla is not very honest about his motivations in regards to shadow milk

when the ancients find out about pure vanilla (and to an extent, white lily) harboring shadow milk in the faerie kingdom, they're very... not enthused! dark cacao visits along with golden cheese to make sure they're alright and it wasn't a false letter, and almost attack smilk on sight. valid honestly.

golden cheese especially since she just finished dealing with burning spice by this point (classic pv move to take a while before admitting he has another criminal in his sleeve)

hollyberry comes to visit when its her turn with her beast (eternal sugar babygirl come home) and she's actually the only ancient to support pvs attempt at rehabilitation of shadow milk, of course after trying to beat him to a pulp a little! (pv twitches at the word rehabilitation)

hmm last thing to end this ramble, shadow milk's cracked souljam made it unusable, think of it like a dead battery

he can't access the powers it granted him, but it also means the corruption of the souljam was made null. the shadow milk of this au is corruption free and so a lot of the things he'll be told about himself is a little... jarring. terrifying maybe.

i mean... you really don't know what you're capable of until you do it, i suppose!

i'm giving everyone a morality crisis

[glitter-stained]

The thing you need to remember about comics ages and timelines is that yeah it's messy there are retcons at stuff and it will never be clear and perfect. But also, DC has an interest portraying age the way they do. They have an interest in aging Barbara down so she can be Dick's pretty girlfriend with whom he raises a cute dog (and maybe a cute little family next perhaps?). They have an interest in trying to keep Tim young and draw him younger than he looks so they can milk his Robin's popularity for as long as possible. They have an interest in drawing Jason to make him look 40 when Bruce slits his throat, to make him look like a grown man fighting a teenager when fighting Mia even though they're the same age (though i mantain that mia is a little bit older), in having him call Tim kid even though they're the same age, in having him offer Tim a drink and Tim pointing out he's not legal when Jason isn't either. They have an interest in Jason looking older in Jim Aparo's art style in ADITF than he looked in precrisis or in 308. They have an interest in Steph magically looking older in War Games, where she gets tortured and brutally murdered, than the fun colourful round and much more youthful art from her Robin run. There are probably many more examples but bottom line it's not fucking innocent. DC knows how to hire artists that know how to draw children it's really not that hard. Characters who look young, characters who remind you that they are young, create more empathy; which is good when you want the public to continue to root for them, and bad when those characters challenge the status quo or that excess of empathy might create pushback after you decide to have them brutally murdered. DC can't have Batman grievously wounding and causing the death of his underage son, but if he looks as old as Batman? DC can't have Jason making a valid point about vigilantism being unsafe for Mia and relating with her with childhood sexual abuse subtext because it makes the heroes (and especially Batman) look bad, but if it looks like this is a grown ass man harassing a teenage girl, then it's clear who is the villain, it's okay, no problem. DC needs Barbara to be younger so the power dynamic between her and Dick fits their idea of a perfect little nuclear family much better and they can shove Barbara back into the role of Batgirl even though she is very much a girl rather than a woman. DC needs Steph to look older when she's tortured so they can be edgy without people being too horrified at them doing something horrifying, DC needs Jason and Steph to look older on the day they die because young looking= innocent which makes it so much harder to victim-blame. DC needs Mia to look younger than Jason so they can make it look like the good old "good victim/bad victim" dichotomy and even though that's not what the story is actually about, regardless of how much it disrespects Mia's character to do so. DC needs Jason to look ugly because it's harder to empathize with ugly people and it makes it so much clearer who is the bad guy and who is the good one, and it's a much easier dichotomy, so much more comfortable than challenging the whole mythos around which Batman is built. DC needs Barbara to be sexy in their traditional male-gaze way, because this is the audience they're trying to appeal to.

So like, I know that I'm nit-picking when I say "actually according to any and all logic Jason is younger than Tim by a couple of months and than Mia by around three years". Or when I say "they should bring back Dickbabs' old age difference" or even interact with Dickbabs as if they still have that difference and refuse to interact with Tom Taylor's version of the ship. I know comics are incoherent and the timeline is messy; but just because it's messy, just because it's always been, doesn't mean it's innocent. So I'm gonna keep nitpicking, and I'm gonna stay an annoying bitch, because I refuse to allow comics to manipulate me out of my empathy. And because I don't see everything and am very aware of how easy it is to be manipulated even when you're careful, I encourage you to add to this with things you've noticed whether it's in portrayal or in art about character age, appearance, or any other device they might use to manipulate our perception of the characters -and what narrative these resorts serve.

[eternallyordinary]

"The Exception" - Part 2

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Summary: He watches hundreds die without blinking—until you show up. Now the game isn't the only thing unraveling.

Warnings: violence, death, kidnapping, power imbalance, possessiveness, manipulation, emotional tension, stalking, implied violence, murder planning, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere

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You

You grew up in a house where love was loud and broken.

Your parents divorced when you were young. You hardly remember them together.

Any memories of them hand in hand feel imagined. Stitched together like a fairytale.

A bedtime story you told yourself at night to feel safe.

Your father was your hero. He still is. You love him, so much.

But he carried his demons in a bottle. Lullabies slurred between binges, disappearing into himself more often than not.

He wasn’t absent. No, he was there. Always.

He showed up to every recital. Every scraped knee, every nightmare.

But sometimes he showed up half-gone. Eyes glassy, smile too wide. Holding you close like he was afraid he’d float away.

You didn’t understand it then.

Why he’d lock himself in the bathroom for hours.

Why his hands sometimes shook when he held your glass of chocolate milk.

Why his voice cracked when he said he was proud of you for nothing. Just breathing. Just being.

You thank God he sobered up before you were old enough to name it.

Before you could understand what the pills were for, or why he cried quietly in the laundry room when he thought no one was listening.

Your dad is flawed. Fragile. Human.

Your dad.

Your mother, on the other hand, didn’t want to love you.

She wanted to be you.

Her eyes were mirrors, always searching for a younger, shinier version of herself in your reflection.

When she wasn’t nitpicking you to pieces, she was molding you into something she could control. Teaching you, wordlessly, that men were the answer to everything.

To safety.

To validation.

To money.

To worth.

So you listened.

You became what she taught you to be.

You learned how to look pretty when you were hurting. How to reach for a man’s attention like it was oxygen, to measure your value by how hard someone wanted you.

Somewhere along the way, you forgot how to want yourself.

"Don’t be such a kiss-ass,” your mother would sneer, reading your texts over your shoulder. Never asking, never needing permission.

She’d scoff at the hearts, the double texts.

“No wonder he doesn’t want you,” she’d mutter, hurling your phone onto the kitchen table. The same table so buried beneath half-used makeup palettes, unopened boxes, expired coupons, and prescription bottles that you couldn’t even remember what color it used to be.

Maybe white?

Brown?

She didn’t hit you. Not physically. But her words left welts in places no one could see.

Invisible bruises that bloomed quietly, over time.

And you felt every.

Single.

One.

You haven’t spoken to her since 2020. And yet, her voice still lives in your head, sharp as ever.

Especially when you find yourself daydreaming. When you feel too much, too fast.

When you reach for love and find only echo.

You’ve always craved to be seen. Truly seen.

To be cared for, not just touched.

To be wanted in your entirety.

But love comes to you in the dark. Always leaving you emptier than it found you.

And yet... you hold onto every 2 a.m. call like it means something.

Because in a twisted way, it does.

It means you exist.

A warm body they remember when their hand slips beneath their boxer briefs.

He's just busy.

Just bad at texting.

But you know the truth. You always did.

They weren't interested.

Not in the way you needed, at least.

They wanted warmth without the burn, touch without the weight.

Every man you let in because you thought maybe, this time, love would fix it.

Fix you.

You thought if someone wanted you enough, it would stitch up the wounds your mother carved with her words.

You thought being chosen would quiet the noise inside you. That being loved would finally make you... lovable.

You were nothing but a security blanket.

Soft, worn, easy to toss aside when the sun came up and the world started spinning again.

So when the email came from your agent—that you’d finally booked something, a real job, a Samsung commercial, for fuck’s sake—in Korea, of all places...

It felt like divine intervention.

Like the universe had finally cracked open and said, "Hey, this one’s for you."

You sat on that plane with your forehead pressed to the window, watching the clouds like they were promises.

You didn’t cry when you left Texas.

Didn’t look back.

You packed your bag, booked the ticket, and told no one.

Not because you were hiding.

Because, for the first time in your life, you were doing something for you.

Sure, it was just a commercial.

But it was a stepping stone.

A small, shining thing that proved your dreams weren’t a joke.

Then came the second email.

Casting Opportunity – Guest Role in New K-Drama (Seoul, Immediate Booking) Hi! I hope this email finds you well! My name is Min Jae, and I’m assisting with international casting for a new K-drama currently in early production. We came across your headshot at the Cheil Production Office and were immediately drawn to your energy and look—something about your presence really stood out. We’re currently looking to cast a foreign guest role for a special episode featuring an American character. The part would involve emotional depth, limited dialogue, and a strong on-screen dynamic with our lead actor. It’s a unique opportunity to showcase subtle performance. This is a closed project, not yet publicly announced, so discretion is appreciated. Filming will take place just outside Seoul, and all accommodations will be arranged for you, including transportation to the set. It would be a quick turnaround—ideally you’d be available to begin shooting within the next week. We believe this could be a meaningful next step in your career, especially if you’re looking to expand your international reel! Let us know if you’re interested, and we’ll send over a non-disclosure agreement and the next steps. Looking forward to hearing from you, soon!

Warmly, Min Jae Casting Coordinator HanStar Entertainment hanstarcasting.inquiries@protonmail.com

Maybe good things have to start somewhere, you thought, gripping your phone like it was a lifeline.

Too afraid to believe it, but desperate enough to try.

Besides, it wasn’t just you. Even your agent thought it was legit. They looked over the email, clicked through the website. It had everything. A full portfolio, staff bios. A polished demo reel. HanStar Entertainment looked like the real deal.

They said it was a great opportunity. Told you to go for it.

So you said yes without hesitation. Without question.

Maybe this was the role that would finally rewrite everything.

Fifteen hours in the sky, no familiar faces. No plan but your own.

Because if the world was going to chew you up anyway:

You might as well see something beautiful on the way down.

You believed that.

Clung to it like it could soften the landing.

Who would've thought you'd end up here.

Not on set.

Not on screen.

But curled up on a metal bunk, blood on your sleeves, silence ringing louder than applause ever could.

The hum of the plane is long gone. Replaced by the flicker of fluorescent lights and the sharp, sterile buzz that fills the air between games.

Games that aren’t games at all.

No cameras. No scripts.

Just silence.

Pain.

A growing understanding that maybe, this is what the world looks like when it stops pretending to be kind.

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Him

He had seen many things in the games.

Desperation, betrayal, death.

Constants, reliable as the masks worn to cover the monsters inside.

They all wore them, didn’t they?

The players.

The staff.

The VIPs.

Some glittered. Some cracked. But all masks hid something uglier underneath.

And when the masks slipped, what came out was worse than anything any sane person could imagine.

A mother gutting a man with her bare hands for a loaf of bread.

Two lovers whispering promises before one turned and shoved the other off a glass tile.

A man crying as he strangled his best friend, sobbing out I'm sorry as if he really was.

There was nothing sacred here. Nothing shocking.

He had seen people become animals, and animals become gods.

Drunk on the power that only comes when no one’s watching to make you feel ashamed.

He watched people kill just to be seen.

Not for survival, not for glory.

For the brief, flickering validation that someone might notice their existence.

Even if only for one more round.

And the fucked up part?

He likes it.

Not in the way the VIPs do.

Not with cigars and velvet robes and cackling laughter.

But as he watches you lost, out of place, barely holding it together—there’s no satisfaction.

No twisted thrill like the others give him.

Just a gnawing discomfort, like something sacred is being chewed up by a machine he helped build.

The way you look around with those wide, confused eyes. A doll dropped into a nightmare you were never meant to survive.

You don’t belong here. Not even close.

You’re too soft. Too untouched.

Too—

His.

The thought hits him before he can stop it, sharp and uninvited.

He clenches his jaw.

Shut up. You don’t even know her.

But it’s too late.

The word echoes in his head like a trigger he can’t unpull.

His.

What the fuck is happening to him?

He’s watched hundreds of players. Watched them beg, cry, die.

But not you.

He can’t watch you like that.

Every terrified expression of yours makes something primal twist in his gut.

You're a flame in a room full of butchers.

And he decides he’ll burn this whole place to the ground before he lets them snuff you out.

“Can we have a word?” he says, voice low and unreadable. But the look he gives the Front Man is sharp enough to cut through the mask resting on his face—

a look that says you know exactly what I want.

Without a reply, the Front Man stands, cloak brushing the floor as they step into a hallway just out of view.

The masks stay on, but the familiarity is unmistakable. Years of blood-soaked business etched beneath the surface.

"So... Who is she?”

The Front Man doesn't respond right away.

“What, we’re just letting anyone in now?!” he continues. “No card. No approval. No vetting. That's my job.”

The Front Man turns slowly, voice cold and flat. “You didn’t get to approve her because she wasn’t meant to be approved. She’s here because the VIPs thought it’d be a fun... twist.”

“A twist?” he echoes, a humorless laugh curling at the edge of his mouth. “She’s not a twist. She’s not theirs to twist.”

His voice sharpens. Still controlled, but only just. He leans in just slightly, gaze steady and cold.

"If they wanted a show, they should've picked someone else."

A pause. The Frontman inches closer, voice laced with a sour bite.

"You’re not mad she’s here. You’re mad it wasn’t you who found her."

“What?! You think I care about—”

"And my friend, don’t pretend you’ve suddenly grown a conscience. You’ve watched them die by the hundreds. Sent them to slaughter with your own hands."

A long silence stretches between them, heavy. Uncomfortable.

Finally, the Front Man speaks—his voice low, unreadable.

“You want her? Fine.” He tilts his head slightly, the mask catching the light. “Consider it a favor.”

A pause. His voice drops lower, colder.

“But if I give you this—expect to repay me. No questions. No refusals. Whatever I ask.”

Your new shadow hesitates, just barely, before speaking.

“Yes,” the Front Man replies, already turning toward the doorway. “I’ll get her out. But don’t fool yourself. You’re not saving her.”

He stops in his tracks, just long enough to look back.

“She might be safer in the game,” he says, voice low and final, “than she’ll ever be with you.”

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PART 3

[rafeys-sweetie]

𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 ౨ৎ

Summary: Late-night quiet settles over the house after a long, chaotic day of new parenthood and a night full of washing binkies and bottle nipples.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x kook!reader

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The baby was finally asleep.

Finally.

You stood in the kitchen in one of JJ’s hoodies half on, half falling off your shoulder staring blankly at the mountain of baby bottles that had taken over the marble island like some kind of domestic apocalypse. Your hair was a mess. Your skin had that faint sheen of dried spit-up. Your feet were bare, swollen, and sore.

JJ, meanwhile, was being no help at all.

He was at the sink, shirtless, swinging a bottle brush like it was a weapon, pretending to duel an invisible opponent. “En garde, bitch! You messed with the wrong family. This is Baby Maybank’s bottle now!”

You didn’t even look up. “I swear to God if you don’t shut up, JJ, I’m going to hit you with the formula scoop.”

JJ gasped. “Damn. Hostile environment. HR’s gonna hear about this.”

You threw a nipple ring into the drying rack with unnecessary force.

JJ grinned, walking over to your side of the counter. He leaned on his elbows like he wasn’t part of your exhaustion. “You mad at me?”

“I’m mad at everything.” You glared at him. “I’ve had a baby attached to my tit for like 19 hours. I haven’t slept. My hair smells like sour milk. My nipples burn. And your idea of helping is… whatever this is.”

JJ nodded slowly, blinking dramatically. “Right. Totally valid. Quick question, though… do you think now’s a bad time to ask for sex?”

You stared at him.

He grinned wider. “I’m just testing the vibe! You never know! Hormones!”

“JJ.”

“What? I miss you!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Go drown yourself in the pool.”

JJ gasped again fake offended. “Wow. Harsh from the woman who begged me for an epidural and then cried because the nurse said I looked like a golden retriever.”

“That was after I pushed your kid out of my body!”

“And you looked so hot doing it, by the way. 11/10 performance. I’d knock you up again right now if you weren’t actively vibrating with rage.”

You threw a bib at his face.

He caught it, held it to his chest dramatically like he’d been shot, then dropped it on the floor and pointed at you. “You need to chill.”

“I need a spa day.”

“No, babe. You need a pool dunking.”

You blinked. “Don’t you dare.”

But he was already moving. Already got that look in his eye mischievous little shit with too much energy and nowhere to put it now that he wasn’t dodging cops or dealing with his dad.

“JJ. I’m not in the mood—JJ, don’t—”

Too late.

He swooped in and grabbed you by the waist, hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of laundry.

“JJ MAYBANK, I JUST WASHED MY HAIR—”

He slid the patio door open with one hand like some cocky golden god and walked out into the night.

The pool shimmered under string lights, reflecting blues and silvers across the backyard like something out of a dream.

“JJ—I swear to God—”

“You’ll thank me when you’re not a demon anymore!” he said gleefully, then launched you into the pool.

Splash.

You popped up with a curse, hair everywhere, hoodie soaked, looking like a pissed off siren.

JJ dropped to his knees by the pool, laughing so hard he wheezed.

“You are SUCH a little shit!” you shouted, splashing water in his face.

He wiped his face off, still grinning like the devil. “You’re not mad.”

“I’m furious.”

“You’re not,” he said smugly. “I can see your dimples.”

You swam closer and grabbed his wrist. “Get in here.”

He blinked. “We talkin’ peace treaty or waterboarding?”

You tugged harder. “I’m dragging your stupid ass in.”

He laughed, pulled his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion and damn then dove clean into the water.

He surfaced right in front of you, glistening under the moonlight, blonde hair pushed back, grin in full force.

And just like that god help you you were melting.

“Hey,” he said, low, breathless. “Hey,” You replied.

Then rolled your eyes, treading water. “You’re still a menace.”

He closed the gap, voice a little rougher now. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re mad at me.”

His hand found your waist, fingers sliding under the soaked hem of his hoodie still clinging to your skin. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw a baby wipe at you,” you muttered.

“I’m lucky you love me,” he corrected, brushing your wet hair from your face, eyes darkening as he tugged the hoodie over your head and tossed it toward the patio.

It landed with a wet slap.

You were left in nothing but your thin bra and panties soaked, clinging, sheer under the pool lights. You crossed your arms over your chest instinctively, but JJ just stood there, chest rising and falling a little faster now, mouth slightly open.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

You raised a brow. “You gonna say something or just stare?”

“I’m reverent Ma.” He reached out, slow and soft, like you were a painting. His fingers skimmed your waist, up your ribcage, along the strap of your bra. “You’re like… Aphrodite. But pissed off. And damp.”

You snorted, letting him pull you in.

And then he kissed you wet, open-mouthed, desperate. Not just soft pool make-out. This was I’ve missed you, I love you, I’m gonna worship you till you can’t walk kind of kissing. His hands slid down your back, under your thighs, lifting you so you wrapped your legs around his waist.

You could feel everything.

“JJ…” you whispered against his mouth.

“I got you,” he murmured, nipping at your lower lip. “I know you’re tired. Let me take care of you.”

You moaned softly, head falling back as he kissed down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Let’s make a new rule,” he mumbled against your collarbone, “every time you get mad at me… I strip you down and throw you in the pool.”

You laughed breathlessly. “You’re gonna owe me chlorine.”

“I’ll buy you a whole damn pool, Kook girl,” he whispered, sliding one hand down to the curve of your ass, kneading, claiming. “You’re mine. My girl. My baby mama. My wife in everything but legal paperwork.”

And in that glowing, half-silent, post-chaos moment, as you kissed him like he was air and he held you like he’d die if he let go, you knew.

You’d let him throw you into a thousand pools.

As long as he caught you every damn time.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Stand Up (Homelander)

Description: Y/N is the only one to stand up to Homelander

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,174

Y/N watched as John gave his input on every little thing someone else said in the seven during the meeting. Deep was speaking and had a really stupid movie idea that would never work and like always John had something to say about it. Y/N groaned as the man went on and on about how the Deep’s idea was stupid and said shit that the rest of them already knew. Homelander looked over at Y/N and shut his mouth, “is there a problem?” He asked.

She sat up and chuckled, “John you’ve been going on and on about how stupid that idea was like the rest of us don’t already know. Just shut up!” He raised his eyebrows at the girl shocked by her words. That was the first time Y/N had ever said that to him or anything like that. “It’s Homelander and I’m the boss you don’t get to talk to me like that.” He said. She stood up, “actually Stan is the boss and you’re his puppet. You’re the face of the seven that’s it.” Jaws were dropped after she said and Homelander had the look of murder in his eyes. Y/N waited for a comeback but all that came was, “Ok then Y/N. What’s your idea?” 

Homelander glared at Y/N as she waved to the crowd. It was Homelander’s birthday and Starlight and her were hosting it. Y/N didn’t want to do it but it was Stan’s demand. The whole thing was going okay until Homelander decided to pull a narcissistic stunt and say that he was better than everyone else and what not. Y/N laughed after his little speech while the crowd was silent.

He looked over at her and she stopped, “So the narcissistic attention seeking whore wants to say he makes no mistakes and he’s better than everyone else? Diabolical.” She said to him not caring about the crowd of people. “Excuse me?” “I didn’t stutter. You can put on this act like you don’t care about anything and you’re better bullshit but the sad truth is you need validation and love or else you crumble.” That was the first time anyone’s ever embarrassed him in public. Stan watched with a smirk as the two argued in front of the crowd.  

Y/N entered the seven’s headquarters first and sighed. The week had been crazy especially after Homie’s birthday. The internet was tore between the two. Y/N got maybe 5 minutes alone before someone else entered the room. It was Homelander. He closed the door, “ah good you’re here. I need to talk to you.” He said. She looked up at him without a word. “You need to be careful how you speak to me.” He said. She scoffed, “is that a threat?” She asked. He shrugged. “You’re not the boss of me okay? You need to be put in your place.” She stood up as she talked. “No. You’re done running your little mouth.” He said and she laughed. “Or what? You’ll kill me? Do it.” She said and got in his face. “Laser me Milk Boy.” She challenged. He stared at her with hate and something else she couldn’t place.

“What got nothing to say?” Before she could say another word his lips were on hers. She didn’t kiss back but tried to shove him away. “You drive me fucking crazy.” He growled and she let out a breath she was holding. “Oh so now you have nothing to say?” He asked. It was her turn to kiss him and he pulled her body closer to him. Her hands laced themselves through his hair as she deepened the kiss. His hands gripped her ass, making her gasp. He took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue in her mouth. She felt sick to her stomach at what she was doing but it felt so good. He was a pretty good kisser that she almost forgot she needed air. She pulled away breathing hard, “Make this worth my while and fuck me.” She said. He smirked and picked her up.

She wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the table and laid her on it. Her suit was revealing enough that his lips could almost touch her nipples. She let out a moan as he sucked her boobs and left hickies all over them. “Just so everyone knows you’re mine.” He mumbles against them. He moves down to her covered pussy. “I can practically smell your arousal.” He said and he ripped open her suit. She looked up at him in shock but he shrugged. “It was in the way.” Vought was gonna kill her. She wasn’t wearing panties so he leaned down and took a big sniff of her wet pussy. He basically moaned at the smell and chuckled. “Fuck.” He said and licked her pussy.

She gasped out feeling his tongue. He chuckled and decided to suck on her clit. Her body shook as the man put his awful mouth to good use. Her head was thrown back on the table as soft moans fell from her lips. His gloved hands were placed on her thighs as he ate her like she was his last meal. When she was about to cum he pulled away and she looked up at him with a glare. It softened when she saw her pussy juice on his face. He wore it proudly too, not daring to wipe it off. He pulled down his suit pants and boxers to reveal with long and hard cock. Y/N’s eyes widen at the sight.

The man was already cocky but this made it worse. She sat up and was face to face with him. He leaned in and kissed her but this time it wasn’t heavy. She took his dick in her hand as they kissed causing him to moan into the kiss. Her hand positioned him at her entrance and she pulled his hips so he entered her. They both gasped as he stretched her out. Her walls were tight but it felt so good. They kissed for a few more seconds until he pulled away and began thrusting. She whined and her head fell back giving him access to her neck. He leaned down and kissed her throat.

He felt her swallow and decided to suck. She gripped the table that began to make noise as his thrust got faster. Her other hand was laced through his hair. “John.” She moaned and his eyes nearly rolled back. “I fucking love it when you call me that.” He groans out. The sound of his hips slapping into hers was heard throughout the room along with their moans. He pulled away from her throat and pushed her back on the table. She gasped and look up to see him staring at her with dark eyes. “I plan to fuck you on every seat every thing in this room.” He told her and groaned loudly as he came inside of her with no protection or care in the world. 

[evilminji]

I came across it in a fic and now it is DRIVING ME INSANE...

Marriage Hunts.

Mmmm, yes, Sexy™. Prove to me you are a Worthy Spouse! Fuckin FIGHT ME! Let's GO! You wanna put a ring on it? You better EARN that right! *weapons n explosion noises*

BUT!!!

Okay. We have successfully DONE it. We caught the sexy, sexy Spouse Of Our Dreams. Much Hotness. Tasteful, of screen, and fully consenting sexy times were had. #NICE.

......whaaaaaat happens NEXT?

What, in a word, is Step Two? ESPECIALLY if? This is "suprise! You've found yourself in a Sexy Hunt For Marriage For PLOT REASONS!" which means that ONE of these two cultures? Sure as SHIT does not practice this custom?

You are Alien Married.

They are fully expecting to either take YOU home with THEM or YOU to take THEM home with YOU, presumably. You have marital responsibilities as defined by TWO different cultures, only one of which you know. This person? Is ALSO a stranger to you!

Basically just met.

High intensity one night stand that's now Forever.

No one ever follows UP. They have fics trying to get OUT of it. Or the boning itself. But not the "....so, like, do I need to help you pack, oooor?" And the culture shock. The dumped in a new society that may not even RECOGNIZE the validity of your marriage. May consider both IT and YOU, barbaric.

And??? For ADDED spice?? Just to make the two cultures REALLY different?

I'ma say Ghosts do it. Not all of um. It's regional. An opt in sort thing. Since fighting is so ingrained into socializing. What BETTER way? To speed run the dating process? Then to Hunt Each Other For SPORT! VIOLENTLY!!! So romantic~♡

And Danny? Keeps failing in the romance department. Too many secrets, ya know?

Figures... Fuck It. Not like anyone can BEAT him. Maybe he'll find someone he wants to date? Or maybe he WILL find that special someone! Who knows? He's lonely, man.

And who should arrive?

FUCKIN NINJAS.

Pick a bachelor with a Summoning Contract. They tried to call their buddies while trapped in an old, long forgotten, HALF ROTTED Uzumaki Seal. It tore reality and yeet them sideways. Their Summons are frantic. THEY land just in time to hear the rules, the name of The Hunt, and see they are surrounded.

*opening horn blasts*

Begin!

Oh FUCK no! They are NOT staying trapped here! They fight! They WIN!

They...accidentally pin a really, REALLY strong and hot Spirit Warrior to the ground. Oh shit. They have a husband.

......but I mean... worse things have happened to them.

But? BRINGING SAID HUSBAND BACK? That. THAT I want to see. They left for a god damned MILK RUN of a boring ass punishment mission. Come back with a possibly half alive, spirit prince husband? The husband glows.

*jazz hands* s-suuuuprise?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[salmonellatrenchcoat]

Every time someone describes Rimmer as blue eyed, a little part of me dies.

[valentine-cafe]

A tiramisu please!

Hi Eden and Howl!

I don’t know if your requests are still open because I come here once in a while but I saw the alessio gun kink fic and it’s turning me into a whore on main ugh 😔😔

(Amab reader)

Being placed in the same universe bc why not.. How about some hate fucking? Reader having their hand in Alessio’s hair while the gun is in the other hand, degrading him for getting off because his rival has a gun to his head 🫡

Also, if this is okay: Can I be 🦀 anon?

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . immortal antihero ⊹ amab reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟​​​​​​​𝑖𝑛​​​​​​​𝑔﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a charming, smug inhuman mercenary, with a provocative sense of humor and a few punches to throw if needed

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... reader finds themselves back in alessio's apartment, but he's the one getting wrecked to a max ⊹ cw ٬٬ gun kink . hatefucking . cum . anál . rough sex ⊹ you're soooo valid and YES you're out 🦀 anon now!<3

"Didn't think you could get any more pathetic, Arias."

He might have responded with sharp bite-back before you got your dick into him. Now now with his large body flushed to the cold building roof-tiles, ass flushed to your ever battering hips and your hand in his hair? Not a single snarky comment is there to greet you.

You almost miss it. But the sweet squeeze of his ass and that deep voice lilted into whines make up for it. Fingers flex around the trigger. You dig the muzzle into his temple. Pant harshly in his ear as your hips abruptly slam forward. Knock him further into the cold tile while your cock twitches round the clench.

"Fuck - " you hiss, laugh. The hand in his hair retreats to swat an open palm on his ass. Leave behind your red mark and shove him down so he's further flushed. Pelvic bone pressed tight as you scramble over him. Practically fuck him into the ground for all he's worth. "That's all it took huh? A gun? Threat of bullets? And look at you. Fuckin' cumming for your rival."

Another swat. You find his hair again. Just as your lips bury into his neck and you smack your hips in a constant, brutal rhythm. Angling against that one spot you know send his pretty emerald eyes back.

"Gonna -" he huffs, whines. "Gonna cum - shit - por . . ."

"Hmm?"

You yank on his hair. The cold metal flushes to his lips smudged in his black lipstick. The muzzle's on his tongue again. You're almost jealous of the way he sucks around it and groans. "Por favor? Yeah baby? Wanna cum like the whore you are?"

He's choking around the gun. You lower your lips to press against his other temple. Fan your breath against his hair heavily as you pick up a near brutal pace. Delighting in the choked sob muffled into black metal.

"Yeaaah, yeah you are. Gonna cum at the thought of me blowing your fucking brains out."

You can see the way his lashes flutter. How he cramps up and goes a little limp beneath you. His second release sprays to the ground and you grunt at the tight squeeze around your cock. Seems he wants to milk to just as much. Who are you to not oblige?

Anything to fuck your seed into your cocky rival while you pound him into the floor. Gun to his head and kisses on his neck.

"Pathetic," a strained huff, a mocking chuckle. "Pathetic slut. Maybe should make you cum all over my gun huh? Gimme something to take home."

The whine he gives you says he's more than on board with the idea. Gives you the perfect excuse to put him on his back and fuck him until he's all cross eyed and dumb.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[girldriveroscar]

Re: size of landoscar. Love your write up haha. Truly any narrative can be validated bc every pic looks different ‼️I do have two pics that are crucial landoscar comparisons imo:

https://www.tumblr.com/answerringg/770682515577077760/their-size-difference-oh-lando-is-getting

This pic is a screen grab from a vid but just in general he looks huge this whole video 😭 like you mentioned I think his bad posture eventuates that + optical illusion but wow. What a satisfying visual re: him vs Lando. Like FINE I’ll buy into the whole ‘Lando’s so small🥺’ that both Lando and Oscar like to perpetuate🤷‍♀️

there’s also a vid of Oscar+ a fan and the comments/fan all mention how surprisingly tall Oscar is. Like Lando said in that first Mclaren vid… Oscar doesn’t seem tall.. but he is. (tall being like 5’10/11 lol)

https://www.tumblr.com/mara-xx/770330916757372928/needed-a-last-minute-birthday-cake-so-i-called-up

^ And this one is just self explanatory 💗

Anyway sorry for the length but my last random thoughts — even as someone who’s never paid attention to lando til like 5 seconds ago, I can tell he’s gone through a massive glow up. And to make this rpf bc why not, how lucky for oscar —the guy who’s been a fan of forever— to experience Lando in his prime (thus far). Oscar said #invest #manifest 

THIS and THIS for ease…

THESE SUITS WERE SO. fuck that ugly ass diagonal suit broOAUGH. this era..peak landoscar size diff cus like oscar Jus grew n lando had Not.

but ok like they r Literally always changing sizes. frm the front to the back to the outfit to the angle

i could find a Billion examples atp !!

why doesnt the big twink eat the little twink seeing this Reformed my brain n the way i see them bc. from the front they r so

0 and o

like oscars small horizontally (again FROM THE FRONT!) while landos smaller vertically. but theyre both Small Basically. (#f1drivers)

but at the same time. theres a lot of muscle mass packed into their frames. and as they shift arnd / have better or worse posture / flex and unflex. theyre either Twigs or Big.

its shrödingers landoscar… theyre big and small… i think the only real conclusion for this wld amount frm seeing them in the flesh. which i dont intend to do or ever report on. LOL. probably.

i fully believe oscars taller than he looks tho. ESP after this year. end of 2023 vs start of 2024 and end of 2024 for reference. i think its a slight growth spurt maybe i am… being kind to oscar though…

anyways thank u for the oscass pic. that photo genuinely makes me Claw and rattle the bars of my enclosure like he is so Perfectly bouncy in that. n lando is my pancake in a way…

and bc youre landoscaring im landoscaring. Under the cut tho.

the fact oscars not even.. big… n they stil BOTH push this narrative of lando is sooo itty bitty…

the way sue Cs it oscar is so giddy about being in on the “lando is the small and fiercely dominant” joke after following said smallest boys career When He was Actually the Smallest… like he is living out his 15 yr old dream please excuse his excitement he Literally is just in on the joke now. of course hes milking it. ijsk he wanted to b george russell soooo bad. hes Crazy. let him have this bit.

lando i think leans into his smallness as a shield bc its all hes ever known and been told. but thats a whole deeper convo. still cannot bring myself to edit that lando analysis Very apologetic the thoughts might hv to die in my drafts <\3

the #invest made me LOLLLL. hes so true. following a guy frm his feeder series bc u Saw the potential in him. Watching him get to F1. Moving frm adolescence leaving everything familiar to u behind to kart with the same team. Stumbling behind in his footsteps. Getting to F1 right by his side. And then u won a championship w him. brought glory back to ur team through the power of Literally Just getting along.. and u have these weird charged events of tension that Somehow get ironed out Somehow.. And ur so completely the opposite of everything he knows and yet the longest teammate he has Ever Had..oOh My Goooood

we rlly dont… give enough time and energy to JUST HOW crazy of a coincidence that is. js think ab how exciting it is for Us when the F2/F3 driver ur following makes it into F1 !! like if Luke Browning or Fred Vesti ever got a seat im Doing Actual Backflips. IT RLY IS LIKE. #invest #manifest now add on everything else??? LIKE WHAT!!!!! god they make me crazy. and somehow lando got super stupid hot and hes a race winner and can actually groan out loud when he fucks instead of whimpering pathetically. that’s crazy man. 🚬🚬🚬🚬

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser — Mean

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.4k TYPE: Fake dating, This is not fluff or angst but a secret third thing (with a cheerful ending) WARNING(S): Depersonalization/identity issues

The first time you meet Michael Kaiser, you get a bad impression.

Yeah, sure, he doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, anyway. You’ve met all sorts of unpleasant people in your life and he manages to disappoint even when the bar is so low, the only way to go lower is through digging.

You don’t exchange a word with him, but rather you have the misfortune of having to listen to him talk throughout the entire meeting. He starts countless arguments, some valid to an extent. You can tell he’s just doing this because he’s addicted to the sound of his voice and speaking to people like they’re unimportant specks of dust all while commanding their attention. There’s no point to his fussing either because he ends up signing the same contract you do.

Waste of your goddamn time — he might as well have not signed it and saved you the trouble, since the ordeal ends up lasting three hours because of him.

Maybe you should’ve not signed it yourself, but your PR manager was salivating at the idea of fake dating as a publicity stunt, especially with Kaiser who’ll be posing with you for a photoshoot in a few months, so you said ‘whatever’ and here you are. In this predicament with an insufferable man you imagine you won’t get along with, which already predisposes you to never giving him a chance.

___

The first time you speak to Michael Kaiser, you unsettle him.

It’s unlike him to feel disturbed, let alone at the slightest thing. He’s met all sorts of sickos, so he considers himself unflinching in the face of anyone who has anything off about them.

But he’s fifteen minutes late to the ‘date’ you’re supposed to use as a tool to subtly launch your fake relationship and he’s expecting a scolding. Kaiser spots you and heads in your direction, taking the seat in front with a shitty smirk and an ingenuine, half-assed apology on his lips.

What he gets in response is a blank look — almost… unimpressed, which naturally someone like Kaiser takes as a challenge and already sets the tone for the rest of the conversation — and it’s as if you’re staring into his soul. Then in an instant your expression flips to convincing joy, your warm smile contrasting his snide one, and you say, “Let’s act like we’re really stoked.”

A chill runs down his spine. On a logical level Kaiser knows you’re faking it, but it looks real, and that’s what he finds freaky. Also, the speed.

“Let’s not,” he says. “You’re weird,” he adds after you don’t respond.

You don’t react to this information either and settle for maintaining your smile.

The barista decides to spare him from having to look at you while you don’t say anything. He’s pretty sure you’re doing this deliberately, to torture him. When you attempt to order something, he talks over you and asks, “Can you give us one of those shitty milkshakes with two straws in them?”

She stares at him in bewilderment. “We don’t sell those,” she says eventually.

“Can you make one?”

“No…”

“You’re scum,” you tell him, dropping the happy facade. Again, the quickness strikes Kaiser as disturbing. Then you give her a valid order, and he asks for water since they offer that everywhere and he can’t be bothered to read the menu. After the barista leaves, you say, “I could have lactose intolerance.”

“You could. I could be trying to kill you.”

“I don’t know if a milkshake would be enough to kill me.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you a stomach ache,” he concurs.

You don’t dignify that with a reply either.

Kaiser tries to speak with you again, “I really fucking hate milk.”

“Then why’d you do that?”

“To embarrass you, of course,” he says, like he’s revealed to you the natural order of things.

“Hm.” You consider this new information. “I’ll definitely think of a way to get back at you.”

The lukewarm threat seems to amuse him more than anything.

Then you proceed to have a hostile few hours together in public as instructed. You end up throwing napkins at his face.

Kaiser isn’t good at pretending to be in love. The only such image he seems capable of projecting is one of a middle schooler who’s failing to find a balance between playful and mean. Though it also doesn’t matter to you because you mostly teeter on the edge of mean, slightly left of apathetic. Nothing really matters to you.

___

For your second court-ordered date with Michael Kaiser, your manager tells you to get caught holding hands with him at a park after the cafe meeting doesn’t spark much controversy. The notion itself has you scrunching your face, but you don’t complain about it or voice your opinion.

Again, he’s late picking you up by a not negligent amount of time, leaving you to stand in front of your building, motionless and impatient.

Instead of announcing his presence in a more acceptable manner, Kaiser blares the car horn until you realize it’s him. After you crawl inside the passenger seat, you turn to look at him and see that he looks very pleased with himself. It’s obnoxious.

“I hope we die in a car crash,” you greet.

“We won’t.” You don’t know why, but his brain interprets this as an opportunity to brag. “I’m an excellent driver.”

He’s not. Somehow you make it to the park without getting into a catastrophe — which, as established, you wouldn’t have minded.

You exit at the same time and Kaiser frowns at you by the time he circles his way around to you. You don’t care enough about what’s bothering him to raise a questioning eyebrow let alone ask, but he tells you, “I was going to open the door for you and then offer to help you up. You ruined everything!”

You roll your eyes. “How gallant.”

“Get back in,” Kaiser says, pointing (as if the gesture will be enough to convince you to play along). “Let’s redo it.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I have a vision for these kinds of things, that’s all.”

“Your vision is trashy and uninspired,” you reject promptly.

Kaiser seems to be the first person in the world who finds your attitude funny rather than objectionable because he grins at your response. But he’s more so looking at you like you’re a bug he finds fascinating in comparison to the rest, without any real respect or acknowledgement. 

“I admit maybe it was a bit cliche,” he says. “Would’ve made me look good, though, if someone caught it on camera.”

You smile that ghoulish smile again and grab his hand like you were told. His fingers are cold and yours even more so, making the grasp clammy and uncomfortable while you begin your stroll. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to talk about with him. Soon enough, you scowl, both the silence and the sensation of getting touched proving too much for you to hide your displeasure, even though Kaiser seems content with letting the silence fester.

“Oh? Why’d you stop? I’ve started enjoying your creepy masquerading.”

“I’m disgusted,” you say.

“Disgusted,” he repeats. “By what? Me?”

“It’s making me sick. Who knows where your hand’s been or what you’ve done.”

Albeit visibly offended for the first time if the lack of an annoying smirk is anything to draw judgments from, Kaiser drops it first. Your arm hangs by your side again, limp.

“Let go, then. Or do I need to do everything myself?” That’s quite a dramatic sentiment coming from a man who has done nothing all day besides a short drive and taking a few steps.

“But my manager said-”

“Who cares? I think my manager’s lucky I agreed to this bullshit in the first place,” Kaiser says. “By the way, my hands haven’t been in any sewers or anything to warrant this reaction, thank you very much.” He must be the type of person who only ever says thank you as if being grateful is some big joke.

“I’m not being literal. I know who you are and what people say about you. My disgust is conceptual.”

“Flattering.” Kaiser’s pleased again with the mention of this tidbit, like the mental image he’s getting of you searching him up gives him immeasurable amounts of satisfaction. One thing you’ve come to notice about him since your last outing is that he’s shameless. “You’re not special, though. Lots of people know who I am.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re scum.”

“Do you usually talk to people you barely know in this way or is it preferential treatment? I’d love preferential treatment, but the other option is amusing too.”

“Usually,” you say in a monotone. “That’s why I don’t speak much. More so supposed to be looked at rather than heard, and so on.” You finish off your explanation with a flippant gesture. That’s what it’s like for you — ‘shut your trap, it ruins your appeal.’

“Well, I-” there’s an emphasis on the word ‘I’ because Kaiser always thinks his opinion matters, “-think your worldview is pathetic and embarrassing. What’s the point of being looked at if no one will listen to you? How can you be fine with that?”

Fair point. You concede in your head, but don’t commit to agreeing with him out loud. “You’re not special either. Most people gross me out.”

“You hurt me this time.” He’s sneering, though.

After a while of walking, you find yourself sitting on a bench next to him. A few pigeons strut around near your feet, bobbing their heads back and forth, almost catching a groove. “If I had any bread, I’d feed them.”

“I’m not surprised you’d feel interested in such a commoner’s activity,” Kaiser says, as if he is somehow superior to you for not wanting to participate in this.

“Vile,” you say, voice still neutral. You’re not looking at him either, attention glued to the birds.

He doesn’t know which part of it you find dismaying — was it the class shaming or what? “So you like pigeons, but you hate humanity. You’re one of those.”

“I don’t hate humanity,” you say. “But nature is repulsive by default. It’s not amoral. When we’re cruel and ugly, that’s a conscious and opportunistic decision. Every day CEOs throw their employees and workers under the bus for more profits. Someone’s getting murdered as we speak. We’re faking a relationship to attract brand deals. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“Get a hobby instead of thinking about stupid shit like that. Caring about how ugly and bleak everything is won’t get you anywhere,” Kaiser… advises.

“Look at the pigeons.” You’re watching the one with the missing claws, wobbling and struggling to get around. “Humans domesticated them and then abandoned them. I love flora and fauna. They’re interesting and exist much more differently than we do.”

“Does that mean you like my tattoo then?”

“Not everything needs to be about you. It’s not like people will forget you exist when you don’t force yourself to be at the center of conversation.”

This stings him the tiniest bit. Either you’re probing into an insecurity or he’s reading too deep into what you’re gathering from your conversations with him. “If I wanted to have a pseudointellectual conversation, I wouldn’t ask a vapid model to psychoanalyze me.”

“Your opinions are unoriginal and stereotyped just like your ideas about romance,” you say, finally turning around to face him again with those haunted eyes. He’s unamused now, clenching his jaw and all. “A stupid athlete wouldn’t be my first choice for a ‘pseudointellectual conversation’ either.”

“You look down on others and judge them, so what makes you so different from all those ‘scum’ you hate? How are you exempt from your own standards?”

Do you realize you’re displaying similar behaviors to those you’re scolding him over?

“Well, there’s a simple explanation for that,” you say. Kaiser is expecting an argument or something, but you kind of floor him with your follow-up. “It’s called hypocrisy. I’m probably just as disgusting as the average person.”

“Your life must be miserable if you look at everything through this lens. What was the phrase, rose colored glasses? Yours must have shit smeared over them.”

You shrug then make a 50/50 motion with your hand. “My life’s neither good nor bad. I’m indifferent on the subject.”

“Uh huh.” Kaiser considers this, then his lips twitch up, and then his smile broadens — it’s snide and smug again, and you come to the realization that he probably doesn’t know how to smile in any other way — before he inches a little closer to you. Not enough to brush against you, but enough to count as an attempted provocation. “I think people like you shouldn’t be considered alive. Legally speaking. And if we’re being figurative, you’re obviously already dead.”

You frown at him, since he’s kind of right. The fact that Michael Kaiser has the capability to discern truths you don’t want to hear rubs you the wrong way.

“Speaking of birds,” you start, deciding to change the topic, “you remind me of a peacock.”

“Wrong.” He’s pouty now. You find the expression cute, but when you catch the thought you throw up in your mouth a bit, so you ignore it. “I’m clearly a swan.”

“The fact that you have a preference when it comes to what animal you’re considered is sad.”

“And you’re entertaining. Let’s hang out again soon even if those sorry fucks don’t suggest it.”

You find it bewildering how he calls his PR manager’s input a ‘suggestion’ and seems to think he can do whatever he wants. Which, maybe he does, seeing the way he conducts himself. You’re also tempted to tell him to make up his mind on whether he enjoys your company or not, but there are more important matters right now. “We’re not supposed to do that, I don’t think.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Why this desire all of a sudden?”

“It’s what I want.” What impeccable reasoning. “I think I can make you enjoy yourself,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. Not for your merit or anything stupid.” Kaiser offers what you’d describe as a flamboyant hand wave in the air, demeanor laced with complacency. “I think it’d make me feel really charitable and generous if I can manage to add something to your depressing life. Give me a chance to try.”

“Word of advice,” you scoot away from him to the point the edge of the bench is digging into your ass and it honestly hurts, “you’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude. How you phrased it disgusted me again.”

Kaiser finds your favored terms interesting. Everything is sickening and disgusting and vile and scummy from your perspective. Deep down for reasons he doesn’t want to ponder, he can relate.

“Great. You’ll come around soon,” he promises, with the confidence of someone who thinks this is a game he has a high chance of winning.

___

Kaiser makes it a point to inflict his presence onto you as much as he can afford to with your schedules, even though there’s no need for it. Not that you refuse him either. He’s kind of interesting to keep around, in his own Kaiser-ish way.

Earlier today he invited himself over to your house. He’d decided you need to come up with a story about your ‘relationship,’ but didn’t wanna discuss it through text messages. Apparently he has an interview coming up and wants to be prepared in case they ask him about you.

“How did we meet?” you ask, sitting on the other side of the couch and leaning against the armrest, away from him.

The answer is immediate: “I saved you from a burning church.”

You question what other fantasies this man could probably have because that’s the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. Your voice somehow remains flat despite the bewilderment when you ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s flashy and dramatic.”

“But if anyone searches it up, they’ll see there haven’t been any… burned churches?”

“You’re such a killjoy.” Kaiser sighs. “It makes it sound mystical.”

“No it doesn’t,” you say, rather flippant about the entire thing. “It makes you sound like a pathological liar.”

“I like your sense of humor.”

“Thanks, but I’m not kidding about this.”

“Then what do you think it should be?” Kaiser asks. Obviously the purpose of this inquiry is to criticize your choice of scenario — even you can anticipate such a predictable move.

You roll your eyes and then look away from him in contemplation. You hadn’t really thought about it, since you don’t do interviews, and therefore you don’t need to concern yourself with hypotheticals on the matter. “Some kind of party, maybe. Post-match celebration?”

“Makes sense,” says Kaiser. “Doesn’t compel me, though. Boring.”

With a hum, you try to imagine what would both appeal to Kaiser and sound realistic. Though he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s swayed by practicality. “I went with someone else, but you swept me off my feet so hard, you stole me away from them.”

“I guess it sounds plausible enough while still having an element of fantasy.”

“Is the idea of me liking you the ‘element of fantasy’?”

“Yeah… That’s why I want it.”

You didn’t expect such a response. It has you looking at him weird. You do so often anyway, but now you do it for longer as if trying to glean something. In response Kaiser tells you to take a picture since it’ll last longer. The reply seems extraneous and distracting, and that only makes you feel more suspicious of him, which is weird since you’re not sure what you’re even inferring.

___

Officially it’s your fifth date with Kaiser, unofficially it’s the tenth. This time you’re holding up a frog in your open hands.

He doesn’t know what the point of all the nature-themed outings is — maybe to make him seem down to Earth in the public eye since he’s become notorious for how insufferable he is? Either way he doesn’t care, and he’s not the type to wander at landscapes, but your affinity for ugly animals is kind of cute.

The frog isn’t some special one either. No crazy colors or anything, just a regular green tree frog (according to your expertise). You let it jump onto your palms, since apparently touching their skin is bad for them or something. Kaiser scrutinizes it in distaste, staring down into its big eyes while it croaks. “So you can handle a disgusting amphibian, but you can’t hold hands with me.”

“I see you’re still thinking about that.”

“Well, it was insulting. And besides, it’s never happened to me before.”

“You’re not so bad. I don’t think I’d vomit if we brushed against each other anymore.”

Kaiser seems curious but nonetheless pleased with this development. “Why the change of heart?”

“Because you listen to what I say,” you tell him.

He somehow resists the urge to piss himself laughing at the sound of that. “Your standards are so low. It’s so sad that it’s funny,” he says. Maybe he would’ve dedicated some more time to teasing you over it, but he comes to a realization which immediately lifts his mood. This must mean he’s in your good graces somewhat, and not many people seem to fit there, so that makes Kaiser special to a degree. Right?

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“Who would’ve thought someone who looks the way you do would come out like this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think you were one of those kids who, like, shoved sticks and leaves in mud and called it a potion.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

Kaiser lets out an annoyed sound, tired of elaborating. “It means I think you’re strange.”

“Hmm, I bet you do,” you say. “There’s a quote I like: ‘It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.’”

“Yeah, and I bet that’s the kind of message you love. What’s it from?”

“Interesting story,” you say. “This is Jiddu Krishnamurti’s most famous quote, but it doesn’t appear in any of his books. Allegedly he said it to some other guy.”

Kaiser blinks and nods, maybe trying to keep a pretense of having the slightest concept of what you’re on about. “Whatever, got it. I can’t remember the last time I read a book of that sort. Maybe I’ll check him out.”

“You don’t seem like you’d be interested in that type of thing,” you say, staring at him as if you’re trying to figure him out.

“Actually, I am. Can you stop taking every chance to insult me?”

“I’m not. At least not on purpose… So, what are your hobbies, anyway? You never told me.”

“I practice. What do you take me for? Well, I read, too, but psychology non-fiction only.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “That’s it?”

Kaiser opens his mouth to justify himself even though there’s no need to be defensive — maybe it’s that he feels like he’s lacking in some department after you bring your attention to it with your little response and generally Kaiser hates to be insufficient. But before he can argue and try and talk himself out of whatever perception you have of him now, an interruption happens.

The frog, which had been lazy and content with merely existing in your grasp, springs without any warning. It leaps out of your fingers and lands on top of Kaiser’s head.

Today you learn Michael Kaiser screams at an ear-shattering frequency when he’s startled. Soap opera level of shock and overreaction.

___

It is when you’re eating at a trashy place for lunch that Kaiser’s looking at his phone, which you find rude since you’re supposed to be spending time together and whatnot. He eats like a pig, too, not graceful at all — you wonder what his fans would think if they saw him with crumbs over his mouth and sauce on his chin. Good material for a public embarrassment campaign, you think.

But it’s in that moment that he finally wipes himself with a tissue and reaches out to all but shove his phone in your face. “Look, we’re so hot!”

You grace the picture with a dismissive glance before looking back down at your meal, disinterested. You already know enough about Kaiser to assume he’d get a kick out of power couple fantasies. And other power fantasies. Really, you find it pathetic.

It was something out of the photoshoot he was showing you, his favorite you presume. Even someone like Kaiser, who has conventional features, isn’t perfect when it comes to these unreasonable standards. He’d been way too stiff next to you while he posed and though his face is symmetrical, his expressions tend to stray to one side, and obviously it’d been corrected.

There’s a mismatch between you on the covers and your image in the mirror. Maybe your brain is exaggerating the disconnect, but every time you see them, it’s like staring into an airbrushed, distorted amalgamation. In other words, you prefer avoiding both the edited products and your reflection whenever you can.

“We don’t look like that,” you say, offhand about his enthusiasm as you are with most things.

Kaiser scoffs and then very blatantly tries to compare between whatever version of you he has on his phone and the you in front of him. There’s not a single good thing you can say about his decision — it’s making your skin crawl just knowing it’s what he’s doing.

“Close enough,” he deems after careful examination.

“I don’t think it’s me.”

“It’s quite literally you.”

“I don’t think anything is me. Like I’m just what I see. My perspective, my point of view. You get what I’m saying?”

“No?” Kaiser says, laughing at you and your apparently strange affliction.

“Well if not that, you have to admit things captured on camera aren’t real.”

“What are you talking about,” Kaiser asks in a flat tone, which leaves it as something less than a question. A few more snickers escape him and he’s grinning at you like a bastard — if at first he regarded you as a slightly more fascinating bug than the rest, by now you must be his favorite, the rarest… A tree lobster. “You make no sense.”

“It totally makes sense. Imagine we’re having sex-”

“What kind of stupid come-on is that?”

“It’s not a come-on, I’m explaining. So, imagine we’re having sex-”

“In what position?”

“Whatever you want as long as it works for the scenario. Anyway, imagine we’re having sex-”

Kaiser laughs harder and then attempts some seductive sort of expression which doesn’t land with you. “I’m imagining it,” he informs.

“Shut up and let me get to the point. Imagine we’re having sex and I’m recording it-”

“Wow, I didn’t take you for such a pervert? Not that I hate it.”

“-so I’m looking at you through the camera lens. The phone’s between us. I’m not, like, in the moment with you. My mind’s absent, it’s all digital. So if you think about it we’re not even really having sex.”

“... You’re losing me even more,” Kaiser says after some contemplation, finding the fantasy unpleasant all of a sudden with this new spin to it. A moment passes during which he takes another big, possibly exaggerated bite, but he at least has enough decency to chew and swallow before adding, “I think you just have a problem.”

You roll your eyes, wondering if he even entertained the thought, but shrug since it doesn’t matter in the end. “Why are we always talking about how I’m weird? If anything, you're eccentric, not me.”

Kaiser wrinkles his nose in offense at the notion and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture in the air. “No. I’ve turned out totally normal. Don’t put me at your level.”

A lot of curiosities spin around your head concerning Kaiser’s behavior whenever you meet and you’re yet to find an answer. What does he want? Clearly he’s comfortable with and used to wanting, but what is it? Attention? Money? Fame? Status? All, none? Will it ever be enough? Is it even the kind of hunger which can be satiated?

Who is he when he’s not playing this ridiculous character?

“I can’t get a read on you,” you tell him.

“Well, you’re socially inept. I doubt you can get a read on anyone.”

“So are you.”

Kaiser feigns hurt over this. He does that a lot. Maybe he finds it hilarious, maybe the performance is all for shits and giggles — who knows.

“I want to dissect your head,” you say after a while of silence.

“Really? That’s what you wanna do with me?”

“Mhm. With a scalpel. I’d make an incision around your temple maybe.”

“My beautiful and demented angel, is that your way of saying you wanna get closer to me?” The sentence comes out mocking with a paper thin smile, but there’s a sense of admiration in it. What for? You raise an eyebrow in visible confusion at the… nickname, but Kaiser doesn’t elaborate. To take away from the tension(?), he announces, “You’ve got something stuck between your teeth,” pointing at your mouth all amused.

___

Kaiser had an ulterior motive in accepting that deal. Though wording it this way makes it sound like some calculated, opportunistic, sinister scheme, when in reality it’s nothing beyond immature and a little humiliating.

Of course, in true Kaiser fashion, when looking to meet someone, he goes straight for the most convoluted option. So when the stupid idea came up, he agreed, even if he put on a bit of a show at first and acted irritating. Confessing to wanting friends is so embarrassing. He’d rather shoot himself at point blank or perhaps commit an act of auto-defenestration than admit the real reason for participating, much less in front of you.

Despite the jabs, you’re also not bad at all. Calm and uninvolved in anything that upsets him and without any expectations towards him.

At first he found your indifference derogatory, but as the months have passed by, there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he could’ve been some random guy off the street and you would’ve probably treated him the same. In front of you he is neither on a pedestal nor someone to be knocked down on his knees. More Michael than he is Kaiser.

Things have been teetering on a dangerous edge lately. His mind is wandering off towards you again, more and more often each day. Like maybe he’s excited for the next time he sees you or something else repulsive in a similar vein, a giddy feeling bubbling in his stomach. Is this what it would’ve been like to be a little boy with a crush?

Generally he prefers not to socialize with background characters. So he doesn’t know why it’s while he’s having some benign daydream about you that some newbie he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of decides to interrupt him. Besides, it’s inconvenient, he was supposed to be leaving and this guy is blocking the changing room door.

“I heard you’re banging a model,” he says, as if they’re good pals or some shit. Kaiser is also mostly immune to annoying locker room talk since all the other psychotic men he knows are too busy being as fanatical as him to waste time on something as useless as objectifying someone to pass the time, yet here this lowlife is.

Kaiser regards him with a judgmental side eye — for a second too long, almost television-style — and tries to move and sidestep him. “Why do you care? Pathetic cuck.”

“Woah, don’t be like that. I just thought it was funny. I’ve heard about that person before, would’ve thought it would be more of a hit it and quit it type thing. Yet here you are, still together.”

The emotion that zaps him is almost disorienting. Kaiser bruises easily, but it’s all about him. There’s never been much room for anyone else in his mentality of suffocating self-absorption, a depressing way to try and compensate for anyone who’s ever wronged him. Right now, though, he’s feeling anger on someone else’s behalf. A borderline exotic situation.

“So I was curious if that thing about loonies being the best at fucking was true? I’m assuming it is ‘cause I don’t know why else you’d stay with a schizoid.”

In the heat of the moment, when he’s pissed off, Kaiser is not the most poetic wordsmith. Thankfully politeness and civility are sensibilities which elude him. Without a second thought or any regret, he makes use of his water bottle still in his hand and dumps the entire contents of it over his head before elbowing him out of the way while he’s still confused.

___

You really don’t want to be having this conversation.

For fuck’s sake, you’re on break. And isn’t that supposed to mean relaxation? Yet the other model for the shoot today has been bugging you with unpleasant questions, putting you on the spot.

“Isn’t he a narcissist, though?” she asks, refusing to let go of the topic no matter how unresponsive you’ve been.

“I guess? Maybe. In a way…”

“You’re sooo… I don’t know. Like, you don’t even sound sure about what you’re telling me.” She narrows her eyes at you, leaning in a bit closer. “Aren’t you scared of him? Or is it ‘cause you’re so sheltered, you don’t know not to mess around with guys like Kaiser?”

Scared of him? It sounds ludicrous. At worst he’s whiny.

“He’s harmless,” you say. “Just a little rude and preoccupied with himself, that’s all. Actually, he’s an interesting and attentive person.”

She covers her mouth and lets out a sound of amusement, apparently now finding you more convincing and therefore dropping her worries. “He was saying you guys are suuuuuuuper in love with an interview.”

Not too engaged with the topic — since it’s about whatever lies Kaiser told the interviewer to entertain himself — you ask, “Is that what he was saying?”

“Yep. Didn’t you watch?”

“No.”

“Fine. Maybe he’s ‘interesting and attentive.’ I mean, I don’t believe it, but whatever. What about you, though? Do you like him, let alone love him? Can you even like anyone? I mean, shit, you know how you are. So, like, can you? Are you suuuuuuuper in love?”

You avert your eyes. “Yes,” you say. It’s true. You do like Kaiser well enough, probably more than you should. “And stop making assumptions about him and me.”

“What if I don’t stop? What are you gonna do?”

That’s… A very good question because there’s nothing you can do at the moment. Seems like a good opportunity to weaponize your reputation of being a deranged serial killer. “I’ll lick your eyebrows.”

You don’t know if your delivery is persuasive or not, but the idea you’d do such a thing must come off as believable enough because she makes a strange face before backing off.

___

You despise being in situations. And making decisions.

There’s a stupid PR meeting again. Your manager, who you think should move onto writing trashy novellas instead of administering poison to your career just because his imagination is overactive, proposed a new stunt. With the fake relationship running its course, you were discussing ways to publicize the ‘break up’ and he suggested a cheating scandal. Not to mention his great idea had you as the cheater — you swear he’s praying on your downfall at this point.

Maybe because you’ve been treated as some kind of fucked up creature incapable of thought and trustworthy decisions, something insentient, you would’ve went along with it like always. Even though you know you’d look bad, the point is to make noise, and it would be a scandalous story if not anything else. Another indignity doesn’t matter much on an endless list.

Then Kaiser in true Kaiser fashion declared that he wants to keep the relationship going. To you, such an act of flippant defiance is unthinkable.

But obviously this forces you into a position where you need to pick between your options. They’re all staring at you, waiting. Kaiser is smiling at you from across his seat like you’re in on a joke with him. Anxious, you say, “I’ll think about it,” and stand up to leave.

You’re sweating because somewhere within you wanna announce ‘Yeah, I wanna keep seeing Michael Kaiser,’ but it’s so preposterous.

Kaiser doesn’t chase after you (though it’d be his style to do such a thing solely for the drama), but he catches up to you by the time you make it outside of the building, approaching the parking lot.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, stop ignoring me. Heeeeeeey.”

God he is such an annoying pest sometimes. You turn around to face him, snapping, “What?! What was that about anyway?”

“No, what’s with you? What is there to think about? You don’t want to look like a clown in front of the world, do you?”

You’re looking at Kaiser again like you’re trying to figure out a mystery. He always wants things, but what does he want from you? There has to be a reason for this. Otherwise, he should’ve been fine with the separation instead of trying to prolong it.

“Listen,” says Kaiser, a little apprehensive at your silence and expressionless gaze, “I can tell you barely tolerate your shitty job and that you probably don’t like the moronic idea your anthropomorphized cyst of a manager came up with, so why aren’t you protesting it?”

Those are objective enough observations. However, “Anthropomorphized cyst…?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Kaiser huffs, irked. “And by the way the fake meek act isn’t cute at all. They’re making money off of you. Tell them to fuck off and die and stop acting like a hostage.”

“This is very inspirational and all, Kaiser, but how about you tell me why you wanna keep the fake relationship going?”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want that either, you can say we’ll settle for ending it instead of-”

You cross your arms. “Again, your attempts at a pep talk are adorable and appreciated, but you’re changing the subject now.”

“They’re not adorable. I’m right. Say I’m right.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent with a roll of your eyes.

Kaiser smiles snidely and clasps his hands behind his back. “Thanks,” he says in a sarcastic tone. Then you expect him to entertain your question, but he doesn’t, leaving you in an uncomfortable staredown against him and his stupid ‘beautiful glowing blue orbs’ ass eyes.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Your unpleasant personality and reclusive ways have bewitched me.”

…

…

“… What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Kaiser says with too much attitude considering the situation. Like, he just spoke out one of the most absurd sentences you’ve ever heard.

“Do you have a brain tumor?”

The outrageous suggestion makes him scoff. “Really? You think I need a brain tumor to like you?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Should’ve let me operate on you when I offered.”

“You’re mentally disturbed,” he replies like the fact turns him on or something.

“So were you asking me out or what?”

“Yes? No? Yes. Yeah, fine, I am.”

“Do you search up ‘personality’ on porn sites?”

“Come on, be serious. I mean what I’m saying and I want to give things between us a try. Do you?”

You cringe as if admitting your feelings or overall being in touch with them in the first place is a physically painful sensation, but in your defense you think you might throw up. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow. My manager, I mean.”

Kaiser swings an arm around your shoulders, visibly pleased with the way this is all going. He sings, “That’s the spirit.”

What had he wanted from you? Affection and care, apparently. You think back on when you’d called him ‘disgusting’ and a foreign guilt overcomes you since you don’t usually lament the remarks you make during your misanthropic hissy fits.

Is it fine for someone such as yourself to also indulge in wanting? Hesitant, with shaky arms, you embrace him around the middle, the gentlest of hugs. Kaiser freezes for a moment as if he’s unsure what to do when he’s not the one initiating things, but eventually returns the gesture. Melts into it, even. Two existences brushing against one another, at first glance contrary yet perhaps similar in many ways.

When you finally pull away from each other little by little, Kaiser says, “Let’s elope now.”

You sigh. “You sure have a way of making everything sound way more exciting than it is.”

(He drives you back to your place, but still sucks at driving. Chivalrously, he avoids crashing the car, though.)

___

Yall I was drinking light yellow tap water for a few daysdo you think somethings gonna happen to me ?

Btw I hate this but it's finally finished after like around a month so whatever lol I' M FREE

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE l JJK (02)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, cursing, blood, stabbing, loan sharks, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

←Previous Chapter (01) | Next Chapter (03) →

******

Eight Years Ago; 2015

Jungkook couldn’t lie. Life at Port Mafia was exhausting him down to the bones, but he felt an onslaught of energy rush through him when he saw you leaning on your car while waiting for him.

“Oho~ Perfect timing. My best friend is here to pick me up~.” Jungkook said in a sing-song voice as he happily skipped down your car. Unfortunately, you didn’t mirror Jungkook’s glowing mood.

“Yeah, I’m here to save your shitty ass from perishing. Here—” You pushed a paper bag into Jungkook’s chest before opening the passenger’s door and shoving him inside.

Normally, Jungkook whined about how roughly you treated him, but he couldn’t ignore the savory aroma wafting from the paper bag anymore. Jungkook had no time for drama when his stomach was growling this loud.

“Crazy bastard. When was the last time you ate!?” You scowled as soon as he entered the car.

Jungkook ignored your question. His eyes glistened with crystals when he saw a container full of crab spring rolls. His favorite! He happily uttered your name and asked, “Are these for me? Can I eat them all?”

A scoff escaped your lips when Jungkook stuffed five spring rolls in his mouth in one go. His question did not need a response, but you answered anyway: “You’re the only one I know who eats spring rolls like there’s no tomorrow. Of course, you can eat them all. I made them for you.”

“Aw, aren’t you a sweetheart~?” Jungkook licked his fingers before extending his arm to demand, “Now give me a drink.”

Room-temperature bottled water touched Jungkook’s hand.

“Huh?” Jungkook didn’t accept the water and looked at you with confusion. “Why are you giving me this bland drink? I want banana milk!”

“Shut your trap!” You unscrewed the bottle cap and forced Jungkook to drink it. “You don’t eat in time and even refuse to drink water. You really wanna die, huh?”

Jungkook’s lips puckered. He breathed, “I agree on the last part, but you got something wrong. I do drink water! I just prefer it with flavor. Jimin-hyung and I had coffee earlier. Although, it’s too bitter for my liking..”

A pause.

Jungkook shut his mouth when he noticed your frown deepen. There was a limit to his jokes, and Jungkook knew this. You and Jungkook had been friends since you were five. You might curse and beat him, but you cared for Jungkook. You really lived up to being his best friend.

“You haven’t eaten all day, and your precious hyung made you drink coffee? Very good,” you said sarcastically.

Jungkook let out a breath, “Hey, it’s not like that, okay? We were busy at the office all day. You know we’re a start-up business.”

Start-up, my ass. The words died down in your throat. Some things didn’t need to be voiced out for them to be valid. One look at Jungkook, and your chest tightened. The bags under Jungkook’s eyes were deep and black. If you argued now, Jungkook would be more exhausted. You didn’t have the heart to watch your best friend suffer. You just wanted to bring him home.

“Right.” You gulped and leaned closer to Jungkook to help him buckle his seatbelt. The move invaded Jungkook’s personal space. He could feel your hot breath on his neck.

You owned a secondhand car that Jungkook helped you pick. The previous owner said it was fully depreciated, but you thought it worked perfectly fine—except maybe the seatbelt. Jungkook always lost his temper every time he fastened this ridiculous thing.

You had to do it for him.

Normally, it took two seconds or less to fasten one’s seatbelt, but for some reason, you took a long time helping Jungkook buckle up, almost as if you wanted to stay in this position for the rest of your life.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Click. The seatbelt was locked in place. You straightened your back and drove the car.

Present; 2023

Nostalgia hit Jungkook in the face like torrential rain.  As of the moment, you, although allowing Jungkook to sit in the passenger seat of your car, had no intention of getting close to him or whatever.

Jungkook heaved a deep sigh.

It was too cold inside your car. Everything had truly changed. Jungkook often complained about the broken air conditioning of your cheap vehicle back then. However, you were driving a top-of-the-line car now.

The atmosphere was awkward. If someone were to tell Jungkook that he’d one day sit inside your car in silence, he would surely call that person crazy.

There was never a dull moment when he was with you. Currently, the only sound that could be heard was the seatbelt warning signal.

Jungkook hadn’t fastened his seatbelt. It was unknown if he had forgotten about it or lost his mind, thinking he had traveled back to when you still fastened his seatbelt.

Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen again. The only thing you could do was remind him about it.

“Buckle up,” you clenched his jaw. ‘Buckle up’ was the second thing you had said to Jungkook after many years of not seeing each other. You two were at the facade of The Guild earlier. Jungkook was rooted on the ground for a long time, thinking he had gone insane to imagine you waiting for him just like before.

But when he returned to his senses, you were still standing before him, and then you opened your car door, gesturing for Jungkook to hop in.

Jungkook didn’t know what kind of demon (presumably the greedy one) had possessed him to enter your car.

Blame it on his brain that short-circuited, relying only on what happened years ago. He didn’t even hesitate. He just got the hell in, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

What was unnatural was how he tried to fasten his seatbelt. He was a bit drunk, after all. His brain was working slower than usual. Jungkook buckled up while wearing the thick yellow Ronald McDonald gloves.

It took him seven tries before realizing that he should remove the gloves, but before he could, you had already leaned closer, buckling the seatbelt for him.

So much for not helping Jungkook, huh?

Since you were close, your unfamiliar scent assaulted Jungkook’s nose. Gone was the soft fabric conditioner that usually stained your clothing. It was replaced by something expensive that seduced someone instead of overwhelming their senses.

Jungkook suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. In all honesty, it wasn’t just him. The strong smell of alcohol on Jungkook terrorized you—instantly turning your mood sour.

“You are drunk.” You moved away, focusing on driving once again. Your hand clenched the steering wheel tighter.

Jungkook didn’t speak. He knew how much you hated it when he drank. It brought you pain and memories from the past you’d rather forget.

Jungkook trembled just thinking about those harrowing memories. Meanwhile, despite your apparent anger, you still turned on the car’s heater when you noticed Jungkook shivering; this awakened another memory.

Once, Jungkook couldn’t stop complaining about how hot it was inside your old car, so you, completely crazy over him, brought out a folding fan to help Jungkook cool down.

It was ridiculous and sweet at the same time. Imagine driving with one hand while using the other to fan the annoying person in the passenger seat. Jungkook didn’t have the heart to see you suffer like this, so he snatched the folding fan from you and fanned himself. Besides, it was dangerous.

Looking back, you had always risked many things to make him happy. Jungkook’s heart throbbed at this realization.

So many years had passed, but you still found a way to care about him.

Jungkook found that he couldn’t take it. He wanted to get away right now. 

“Where are we going?” He asked. Only now did he realize how stupid he was to get into this car.

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. You wanted to say something but changed your mind at the last minute.

“Where do you live? I will bring you home.”

“No need.” Jungkook turned you down in a heartbeat. Who would have thought you would clench your jaw and disagree?

“You are drunk. I am bringing you home.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply. There must be something wrong with his head when he wished to see you. Your relationship was severed years ago. You two no longer understood each other. Just look at you—even your way of speaking changed. Jungkook’s tooth ached while listening to you talk formally.

But in the end, Jungkook told you the way home—just not his exact address.

“I’ll be okay here. The streets going to my apartment are narrow. Your car won’t be able to get in.” This wasn’t a lie. Jungkook lived in the poorest area of the city. Going there would only burden you, especially because many gangs waited there. They did not appreciate newcomers. Besides, your car was too flashy. You might end up walking home with a stab wound.

Thinking about that ugly scene, Jungkook shivered again. “Seriously. Just drop me off here. I’m not that drunk, okay?”

It was meant to be a reassuring statement, but your face turned ashen upon hearing that. The rims of your eyes even went red.

Jungkook touched on a sensitive topic that made your heart beat like a drum. He expected you to lash out just like before, but contrary to Jungkook’s thoughts, you simply pursed your lips like you were enduring something painful.

And then you finally stopped the car.

“Contact me.” You handed a calling card to Jungkook. The latter hesitated to receive it because for what? Why did you two need to contact each other again?

You sensed his hesitation. Your grip on the calling card constricted. You almost pushed it to Jungkook’s chest.

“Give me yours,” you demanded as if you knew your former best friend would never call you.

Jungkook held his sneer. He didn’t have a business card. Nobody would want them, so what’s the purpose of printing?

“I’ll call you.” Jungkook snatched the business card and hastily opened the door. He got out in the blink of an eye.

You were stunned but didn’t stop him.

“Thank you for the ride. Happy New Year. See you around.” A lie. He would not see you ever again.

It was too embarrassing. Jungkook was not used to feeling his heart beat crazy again. He was an old man now. He couldn’t handle intense emotions.

Seeing you after a long separation opened wounds he thought had already healed.

He fooled himself. He was a clown.

Literally.

Jungkook went straight to the comfort room of his apartment. His system really knew how to cooperate, huh? He was only vomiting now that he was out of your judgmental stares.

But really, could he blame you? Jungkook also looked at his reflection in the mirror, judging his clown self. He wished the brown patches in the mirror could cover it whole.

He didn’t want to see his face—didn’t want to think that he really met you while wearing the Ronald McDonald mascot costume.

Jungkook: “...”

Jungkook punched the mirror. 

And then let out an animalistic groan.

Jungkook hated physical pain, but he had a rush of dopamine seeing his hand bleed.

His thought of wanting to die was unleashed. He suppressed his pain and anger for years but couldn’t hold on any longer.

Just for today, Jungkook wanted to let it out. It was New Year, after all. He swore this was the last time he’d cling to his past.

And so he punched the mirror one more time. It hurt. It hurt so much that he wanted to cry or die.

Jungkook collapsed on his bed, breathing heavily.

Breathed in.

A tear fell.

Breathed out.

More tears.

He couldn’t die, so he just cried until he fell asleep.

***

Jungkook was jolted awake the next day by the banging on his apartment door. The sound was piercing, perfectly and annoyingly matching his pounding head.

A groan escaped Jungkook’s lips. He had to drag his heavy body to open the door. His eyes were still bleary from having woken up, and before he could properly look at the person in front of him, a knife had already penetrated his skin.

“Good morning, Jungkook-ah. I’ve come collecting debts~” The person who stabbed Jungkook had a saccharine voice, but the killing intent mixed in it was apparent.

Jungkook touched his aching stomach, unable to pay attention to the intruder. He looked at his hand; two colors were mixed together, giving an illusion of something hopeless and terrifying: reddish-brown, the color of dried blood from punching the mirror last night, and now fresh red blood stained his fingers.

Jungkook had been stabbed and was pushed to the ground before he could groan in pain.

“Why the long face, Jungkook-ah? Aren’t you happy?” The intruder mocked.

Jungkook was familiar with this intruder. He was Lee Sung. This man collected debts on behalf of Jang Min, his master.

“Eh? You’re not answering me? Jungkook-ah, it’s New Year. Where’re your manners? Haven’t you learned anything?” Lee Sung sneered, hauling Jungkook to his feet only to slam him against the wall.

Jungkook cursed internally: Bastard, yes, it’s fucking New Year. Won’t you give me a break!? But as usual, he couldn’t voice out his indignation. He didn’t have the energy and power to do so.

Powerless people had no voice. If there was one thing Jungkook learned in life, it was to act according to what the one in power wanted. It would make his life easy because he didn’t see the point of fighting when he knew he would lose from the start.

“You promised to pay eleven thousand yen for this month’s interest. Where’s the money~?”

Jungkook screwed his eyes shut. He lost track of the amount of interest accumulating in his debt. He didn’t even know how much the principal amount was. How could he remember? He was drowning in debt. Would you care how many times the waves hit you? No, right? You would only think about surviving or grasping for a life jacket.

His current life jacket amounted to nine thousand yen, so that’s exactly what he said.

“I have ₩9000 with me,” Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Cold sweat slid down his spine. “Can I...pay the remaining amount next week? I swear I—”

Lee Sung slashed Jungkook’s exposed collarbone with a knife, possibly to get him to stop bargaining.

“Of course, Jungkook-ah. I’m a generous man, don’t you know?” The lunatic with a weapon slashed another layer of Jungkook’s skin. “But I’m afraid I must cut your skin twice. One for each won you cannot pay today. Seems fair?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lee Sung already hurt Jungkook. The latter didn’t fight back. By the time the intruder was done, he had spat on Jungkook’s face and then pushed him.

The wooden floor creaked as Jungkook’s trembling body fell down.

“See you next week. Prepare the money, or I’ll have to cut your throat the next time we meet.” And then Lee Sung was gone.

Jungkook gritted his teeth, clutching his bleeding stomach. He had to call for an emergency before he lost consciousness. Unfortunately, his phone was on the bed. He struggled to crawl just to reach for his phone.

Perhaps the universe saw how helpless he was that he was granted exceptional luck: he had managed to call for help before his hand lost all power, dropping his phone as darkness clouded his vision.

***

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A/N: Please leave a like or comment if you enjoy reading this fic. It motivates me to write faster. Thank you ~~

[msookyspooky]

Pranking your Slasher S/O and they're Reactions

Characters Included:

Stu Macher, Severen, Bo Sinclair, Foxy Coltrane, Baby Firefly

🤭

Stu Macher: Serving Food Angry

♡ He is blinking at you shoving the plate down and aggressively asking if he wants a fork or spoon

♡ At first he's confused. He tries to ask, "So rough day or??" but when you say no and aggressively shove him his drink then he's unable to hide his wtf face and is like, "Yo you on the rag or something??" if you're a afab (Or amab even it's Stu in the 90s bffr)

♡ You're trying to stay 'angry' while he's getting defensive. Matching energy and slamming shit back with a glare before he's like 'The hell is your malfunction, man!?"

♡ Matches Energy for Energy till you tell him it's a prank even if it's mid argument

♡ "Oh, a prank. Cute...Bitch." He grumbles at you making him lose his laid back aura he tries to project.

♡ He is a petty boy he may wryly smirk but be like 'Watch yourself' from doing that again

Severen: Pretending not to do your routine cuddle session that night.

♡ Man is INSTANTLY sitting up in bed (wherever you crashed together for daylight) looking offended as hell bc how dare you?!

♡ "Oh, so you hate me now? Is that it? Damn, you just hate me and want to watch me be cold over here, huh?"

♡ Most dramatic brat for such a burly tough guy

♡ You're trying not to giggle at how he probably knows you're pranking him but playing it up for laughs

♡ Turns his back to you and gives a faux 'Nope...Nuh uh no, I don't want to now. 😠' in retaliation to you wanting to cuddle after that. Probably back turned and scooting away.

♡ Really milks out how 'hurt' he is. Plays it up seeing your entertained by his bulling.

♡ "....Well, now that ya mention it...I know a way you could make it up to me... 😏" and he's dragging you over in his arms to cuddle and other things before you can even register what he said

Bo Sinclair: Pretending to Put Diesel in a Gasoline Truck

♡ I pray you're on the phone (You'll be screaming 'I'm joking!' real quick when he's about to shake the shit out of you. 'He let you outta the house and this is the thanks he gets!?' jk)

♡ He will crash out at the amount of work, money and time it will take to drain the entire tank and he'll crash out even more if you're 'driving it home' and ruined the Engine while he's frantically saying "Ya didn't! I'll come tow you please tell me ya didn't jus' fuckin' ruin my 1987 Chevy truck!!!"

(I'm not even a car girl but valid crashout ngl)

♡ You don't even understand half of what he's saying as he's yelling in that thick ass Louisiana accent while your trying not to die of laughter

♡ Does not trust its a prank and thinks you're just saying it so he won't be mad af

♡ You're nervously laughing at him either hunting you down in a spare vehicle or pacing the yard with a cigarette; you done got this man about to pop a blood vessel

♡ He huffs glaring at you almost pouting as you apologize and sheepishly explain it was a prank

♡ He probably so badly wanted to slap you, but instead, he just tilts your chin telling you; "I think someone needs a lil attention and that's why ya did this, ay suga?" and it's gonna be either you over his knee till your ass is red or tied up under the gas station and edged/teased to the point of crying...He won't be as rough as he is with victims but boy are you in for a long (fun?😗) hard night.

Foxy Coltrane: False Pregnancy Test (If you're AFAB)

♡ "...Nah, that ain't mine."

♡ You're gonna be the one mad as hell bc his reaction is instant denial and deflection bc he's an irresponsible redneck bum with probably litters of bastard children all over the Country he don't know about.

♡ He's a middle aged criminal! Might even blame you for not being on the pill or take a morning after or tracking your cycle

♡ Definitely ends up being an argument before he falters and groans running a hair through his hands saying "Goddamn it..."

♡ To your surprise, if he really loves you to the best of his ability, he's in it for the longhaul for once

♡ Once he realizes it's a prank "Thank Sweet fuckin' Merciful God!-" In exasperation...

♡ But then later that night he does hypothetical say "I don't want kids but...What if...Shit, I don't know, it did happen?-" bc you got him thinking how much that would light his fire to see you knocked up with his kid and how hot that would be for him to claim you like that

(If AMAB or Infertile/Would never have kids):

Saying the Name of an Old Fling he Didn't think you knew

♡ Whiplashes around blinking at you

♡ Not nearly as explosive as the rest of his family but just as ruthless

♡ Gonna get your feelings hurt when he doubles down like "The redhead with the big ol tittes? Oh yeah, we fucked hard and nasty for days on end. Why?"

♡ Definitely has commitment issues where you gotta be his but he's leery of being yours so he thinks this is some lil test you're pulling

♡ Probably an argument but he finds it a lil cute and gets horny seeing you jealous. Wraps his arms around you, "Hey babycakes-" Smacks your ass and whispers husky grinding on you, "Why don't we have our own fun and make it make that time with that redhead look like a snoozefest?"

Baby Firefly: Jump Scare

♡ Either you're getting punched in the face or she's unphased and blinking at you

♡ Otis almost getting shot in the motel and her smacking him for scaring them? Accurate.

♡ You hid and jumped out at her and didn't know whether to laugh or cry at how hard she hit you

♡ "Ya fuckin idiot! Don't ever fuckin sneak up on me, fuckin' dipshit!" Yeah, she's got that prison instinct that probably is a dumb idea to test

♡ She's helping you up though and kissing where she hit. "Heh, guess ya learned real quick, didn't ya? Be lucky I'm unarmed right now, ya lil shit."

♡ Oh but she gets you back twice as good jump scaring you constantly and may even 'act startled' at you ever accidentally jump scaring her again as the closest thing to an apology you'll ever get

[majycka]

Megumi stans....we won, I guess? maybe just for now..

JJK 266 THOUGHTS AND SPOILERS AHEAD!

Aight megumi enjoyers, at least one of us has been in the trenches when Megumi was getting SHOVELED PILES OF SHIT ON for losing his will to live when he's a traumatized 15 years old boy having a valid reaction to a death of a loved one (aka who may I repeat, HEAVILY REITERATED in the manga is someone whose his entire desire to live hinges on). As of from the currents chap, I'm considering Yuuji's acknowledgement/understanding to Megumi's actions a W for us or idk maybe that's just me because he gives Megumi the empathy and understanding he needs in his crazy ass suicidal life, and it raises the question of whether this is gonna fully push Megumi for his comeback moment?

More yapping under the cut

In order to explain why the magnitude of this chapter is such an important development for Megumi, his trauma needs to be discuss first and, there's four people we need to go through to reflect his stages of life. Toji, Tsumiki, Gojo, aaaannd Yuuji! :D

TOJI, the dad who left for milk.

Although we barely see any interaction with these two (only one fight scene from them), Toji no doubt kickstarted the trauma of Megumi the moment he decided to left for milk and never return again. He's traumatized by the Zenin's which explains why he acted out in that way and abandoned his child. All he's life he's treated as the outsider for being the odd one out. He lashed out from it as he got stronger, calmed down when meet Meg's mom who then died, and went back to lashing out again, forgetting that he has a tiny son waiting for him at home. Big L for Toji.

I know that Gege reiterated in his interview that he wants to craft a story where there's no right and wrong people, but I'm gonna proceed to be harsher towards Toji here because he's the ADULT situation. Yes, a traumatized adult who's fucked up and not perfect, but I still hold him accountable in perpetuating Megumi's trauma because Toji proceeded to repeat the cycle of trauma that moment he decided to leave, thinking that turning over Megumi to the Zenin is the best option cuz he got The Ten Shadows Technique. From Toji's perspective, it seemed the better option because he was raised knowing his no cursed energy made him an outcast in his family. It's drilled to him that cursed technique was everything for Zenins, so of course, he thought that his son with a valued technique will make the Zenins, olympic gold medal holder of abuse, treat him better. But, heck no! Just look what happened to that Naoya, who despite being raised differently as Toji or Maki and Mai, ended up as a piece of shit. In the end though, I gotta give him the bareeeessst minimum because he kinda pushed Gojo to interfere with Megumi being sold off to the Zenins(which has another set of problems discussed for the later part of discussion).

I try to stay true in including Gege's intention in writing here, and also other nuanced perspective cuz that's the type of series JJK is that yes, Toji DID care for his son in the barest minimum and in his most emotionally stunted way.

However, the damage is done, and Megumi is left with no prime adult caretaker to protect/guide him with only an older sis to have any resemblance of it .

2. TSUMIKI, the manic pixie dream girl sister.

To define the term (as I've stolen from Google) , manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) means "a type of female character depicted as vivacious and appealingly quirky, whose main purpose within the narrative is to inspire a greater appreciation for life in a male protagonist." They are often associated as love interest in movies, BUT I AM NO WAY SHAPE IN FORM ENDORSING MEGUMI SEES HER THAT WAY. Instead, I am using MPDG as a loose term to describe Tsumiki because like most MPDG, we barely know ANYTHING about her actually and we only saw her through the eyes of Megumi which is being pretty and dead.

Not essentially dead and not essentially just pretty because Megumi described her to be the model of a kind person and someone that Megumi wishes to protect, aka his greater purpose of life, which is yah, great, but we are stuck with this perception of Tsumiki. We don't know her, and I think the closest thing we got an unbiased perception of her is when she chucked a cartoon of milk to Megumi (she will call out his BS). This connects back with Megumi's trauma because who else are you gonna hinge your will to live on when the prime adults in your life failed you? He sees her in a brighter light in order to survive. A way of coping mechanism even.

AND YET, despite all his talk appreciating her kind traits and killing people in the culling game to get back to her, you would be surprised that instead of apologizing to her that he was all emo about, he was a dick to her when they reunited. 💀💀

And in fact, the narrative punishes him for this flaw.

To the point that when Sukuna took over his body, he "killed: Tsumiki in his hands which didn't just left Megumi the guilt and shame of being a dick to his sister before she dies but also the impression that Megumi was the one who "killed her." This makes Megumi an active participant to his own tragedy, and it serves a big slap on his face that he's also at fault here.

3. GOJO, the traumatized bro who tried his best.

This is definitely the raging hot debate of the fandom which is their dynamic, and my take breaks this perception of the uwufied Gojo a lot of the fandom seems to like. Yes, I do see Gojo as another perpetrator to Megumi’s trauma, another adult that failed him but not in such of a black and white way thinking of Gojo’s the wholly bad guy here. Believe it or not, he’s still a part of the chain of generational trauma, being a "chain" as in he's a victim AND perpetrator of the system. I called him the traumatized bro who tried his best here because as much as Gojo knows how cruel the jujutsu system is for the kids, he still unintentionally passes over the core mindset of such cruel system to Megumi since Gojo still did grew up in this system normalized in his eyes.

"Jujutsu Sorcerer is an individual sport."

I say "unintentionally passes" because no, Gojo doesn't have the same intention as Zenins/majority of the system who drills "strength is everything" in the most fucked up way possible. Yes, he enjoys Megumi’s company and treats him nicely. Yes, he sticks his neck out for him. Yes, he wants them to be strong so they can change the system. But this isn't about Gojo. It's about Megumi who still undeniably suffered from the accumulation of the few adults in his life failing him which includes Gojo. Gojo offers protection to Megumi. KEYWORD: Offers. It’s in exchange for Megumi working under Gojo as a jujutsu sorcerer. Now, for smol Megumi here, who truly going through the horror show of abandonment from his dad, agrees to it because apparently, according to Gojo, it’s the only way to protect his sister.

"I'll take care of things! But you're gonna have to work extra hard. I'm countin' on ya."

Annnd thus the cycle repeats! Although it wasn’t as bad as Zenin’s abusive environment Toji was raised, Megumi is still pushed in the same cutthroat environment of the jjk world that Gojo believed he can survive just because Megs has a valued powerful technique if only he himself fullfills his potential, like Gojo’s Six Eyes. BUT Gojo, who delights in his power, forgets a crucial part that…..Megumi isn’t like him!

Check out what Megumi has to say. (aka bud doesn't want any of that sorcerers shit and just wants a domestic life)

So the thing is, was Megumi ever asked his input in choosing to be a jujutsu sorcerer? Well, yah….and all it circles back to just protecting his sister and people like her. There’s a set of problems that comes with this mindset though that Gojo was valid to point out and that is Megumi doesn’t think about himself enough. “It’s ok to be selfish!” Gojo said in the context of being a stronger sorcerer.

But at the same time, he also gave Megumi the idea to that if he doesn’t work as sorcerer, then he won’t be able to protect his sister when he was a mere 6-7y/o boy.

You know that circulating meme of Megumi pulling Mahogora for minor inconvenience? Well, guess what that tells his suicidal tendencies in protecting anyone but himself. Kid got no sense of self-preservation because his self esteemed has completely tanked itself due to his abandonment issues, and now that he’s expressing how it emotionally and physically paralyzes him, he has every valid reason to do so.

Why, yes, Gojo was 19/20 at the time he first met Megs, still a kid, doesn't know shit, and has unaddressed issues being treated as The Strongest Weapon(here’s a dedicated gojo-centric meta I wrote previously about Gojo and his issues cuz he's one complicated fool). I describe this whole situation as an unaware traumatized kid taking in another traumatized kid which is not a fun mix to have, and I understand that Gojo ain’t exactly prepared for that kind of job.

HOWEVER, I’m way harsher to point out Gojo’s failure as an adult in Megumi in the later part of the series because at this point, Gojo's a grown adult, he waxes poetry in being responsible for the next gen , and we get to see his priorities throughout the series especially with the Sukuna’s fight, like seriously he had one legitimate fun fighting someone on par with him.

Gojo DELIGHTS in power no doubt, he chooses kids with most potential, he gets excited finding those kids, and this is the type of the closest dependable adult Megumi has in his life.

Yes, financially supported but Gojo isn't around much when he's working and on demand sorcerer almost 24/7. That's why growing up sure do sucked ass for Megumi especially when no one’s really there to guide and to keep an eye on your development AS A PERSON AND NOT JUST A SORCERER which the latter part is what unfortunately Gojo’s more eager to do.

4. YUUJI, the guy who just wants Megumi to know he matters to him as a person.

Yuuji and Megumi were definitely the highlight of this chapter because in the bleak world of JJK where everyone seemed to be succumbing to the repeated fuck ups of the previous gen (like that Yuta-Gojo situation), this chapter actually offers that THERE IS HOPE that the new gen can do better like what Yuuji just did that the adults in Megumi's life are too emotionally stunted to do. Yuuji take the time to listen to Megumi's emotional thoughts, what he feels as a person, and not just listen, but to understand and empathize. It even took lots of attempts for Yuuji to make Megumi open up.

He responds to Megumi's vulnerability with care and love, and Yuuji understands the pain Megumi is going through from losing his sister. With someone in pain like that, Yuuji knows he can't just go around saying "just live" to someone who's practically suicidal.

The treat of this all is when this scene comes next. Yuuji also shows his vulnerability and expresses that Megumi matters to him!

"It's lonely without you..Fushiguro."

This scene clearly parallels Gojo and Megumi's first meeting, so I'm gonna try to throw my two cents here and explain why Gege choose this direction. Remember what I said about Yuuji giving us the hope of the new gen escaping from the shackles of generational trauma? Well, I think this parallel is a way in saying that what Megumi needed when he was so young was someone to see him and his pain who's just a kid abandoned and forced to fend for themselves because the prime adults decided to to dip out. This is Megumi we are talking about here who's unaddressed issues stays hidden beneath all the pressure of him being The Ten Shadows Technique. He's valued for his technique. That's why Gojo showed up to meet him in the first place. That's also what the jujutsu system looked after for their child soldiers. Yuuji tries to break this chain of trauma their mentor unknowingly repeats. He'll show up for Megumi again and again because he's his dear friend even if Megumi's being difficult to be pulled out of Sukuna. And the beautiful thing is Yuuji didn't had some grand inspiring speech or grand offer to convince Megumi, he wasn't even sure Megumi will be up for it. Yuuji simply want to say that he matters to him. That understands him. That he's important to him so much he'll be sad when he dies, and it mattered.

"This is...Fushiguro Megumi's...!!"

And now that Megumi is showing signs in taking his body back, it's now his turn to save himself. Yuuji did his part, and for someone whose future has been controlled by everyone but himself, this time Megumi gets to decide what comes next.